AC2 Novelization
by Mirror and Image
Summary: Desmond is freed from Abstergo, but his responsibilities as an Assassin have only just started. Now he has to learn how to be one through an ancestor named Ezio Auditore. Rated for language and Ezio's amorous adventures.
1. The Breakout

**Assassin's Creed II Novelization**

Mirror and Image

_ "My name is Desmond Miles; I'm a prisoner of war. A war I never new existed, waged by two groups I never thought were real: Templars, and Assassins. The Animus showed me the truth... _

_ "The things I've seen; the things I've _been_... _

_ "A thousand years of history flowing through my veins, brought to life through this machine. They're using it, using _me_, to search for something. They call it the Apple. It's an artifact, one of the many so-called 'Pieces of Eden'. Templars collect them... It's how they stay in power._

_ "And if the Templars get their hands on another one, _everything_ would change. They want to make us all their slaves. When they first brought me here, I was afraid of what would happen if I tried to fight back._

_ "Now? Hehn. Now I'm afraid of what will happen if I don't. But I can't do it alone, and maybe I don't have to. I met someone: Her name is Lucy. I think she's on my side. ... She's gone now, taken away by that _bastard_ Warren Vidic and his Templar masters._

_ "I don't know what will happen... what will happen to _me_... All I know is I need to get out of here, and I need to do it soon._

_ "My name is Desmond Miles. And this is my story."_

* * *

The writing was on the wall.

Literally.

The butterfly of chaos theory, Arabic, numbers, Chinese, Biblical notation, the _abyss_, it was all on that wall above the bed, written by the guy who used the room before Desmond. The guy who used the _Animus_ before Desmond. Subject Sixteen. Induced in a coma and left in the Animus for days at a time, a guy who suffered a break in sanity, and who had written on the wall in _his own blood_.

His own _blood_...

Desmond... He couldn't turn it off. The Eagle Vision, the angry red letters kept staring at him, coaxing him, playing with him. There was a message somewhere there that he didn't understand. _Couldn't_ understand because he wasn't crazy like Sixteen. Except... Except...

_ it's all gone there's nothing left I'm completely drained I've done all I can and now it's his turn it's your turn the next subject the last subject subject seventeen I've given you all the tools now break the chains Desmond break the chains I'll see you again soon after I die_

His dreams.

He remembered his _dreams_. And... And...

Desmond wasn't completely sure how long he stared at that wall, or the floors of the other room where that damned Animus was kept. Hours? Days? Weeks? He lay his money on days, he dimly remembered sleeping and food being given to him, but it was all vaguely in the back of his head because _that wall_ commanded all of his attention. He kept looking at the Arabic, _Al Zalzala_, "Armageddon." What did it mean? What did any of it mean? What did it have to do with him?

_I've entered the Abyss and never returned..._

... Was that going to happen to him? Or would the Templars kill him before he went mad?

He heard his door beep, an unfamiliar sound in the crescendo of his erratic thoughts, and he blinked, the blood disappearing with his vision and he turned.

Lucy strode in, in jeans and a white shirt, her face determined. Lucy!

"We have to go," she commanded.

Desmond blinked, having never heard such an authoritative tone before. "Lucy, where've you been?" he asked, trailing after her into the second room of his prison. "Why did they-"

"Now," she said forcefully, marching quickly to the Animus and booting up its systems. Desmond stared dumbly, not quite following, part of his mind still on the _blood on the wall_. Wait... Blood? He saw specks of it on her pristine white shirt. More blood? What?

But Lucy had finished powering up the damned machine and jutted her jaw to it. "Get in," she said, once more in a commanding tone.

Desmond was still struggling to catch up.

"What's with the blood? Are you okay?"

Her pouty lips pressed together and her eyes narrowed, no longer the patient and compassionate assistant to War_den_ Vi_dick_. "Look," she said sternly, "we have maybe ten minutes - _maybe_ - before they figure out what I've done. If we're not out of here and on the road before then..."

Desmond blinked. "Wait, we're _leaving_?"

"Desmond," she said with forced patience, "I promise I'll answer all your question. Later. But right now, I need you to just shut up and do as I say. So please get in the Animus."

He looked at that damned machine, eyes darting from it to Lucy. He hated the Animus but... He trusted Lucy.

"... Alright."

He hopped onto the curved table, laying back and feeling the thrum of the machine come to life, the pressure on the back of his skull as the visor rolled over his line of vision. The white fog of the load screen slowly filled his perception, and he saw menus opening.

_Subject Seventeen: Desmond Miles_

_ Subject Sixteen: Confidential_

Wait... Sixteen? What did he have to do with...?

_Searching for relevant memory data..._

_ ... What?_ What did that mean? "Lucy..." he started to say but then,

_Memory match found. Accessing memory..._

And he was falling away...

* * *

Screams the_re were a lot of sc_reams and it was sm_all and hard to breathe too hard to bre_athe and everyt_hing was so dark and tight and small he_ couldn't breathe and nothing made sens_e and the screaming wouldn't stop and it wasn't h_is voice his lungs we_re too full and_ he still couldn't breathe. There were voices, w_omen's voices, say_ing things he didn't understand and couldn't understand, _Spingi, spingi, bu_t what did it mean it didn't make sense and it was j_ust all so confusing. He didn't _want to move but things were for_cing him through that painfully small space an_d he was fighting so hard but he still cou_ldn't just breath it was all so unnatural and when would it jus_t stop? _Another voi_ce came in, male, desperate, and the_re were hands on him_ and a so_ft coaxing tenor voice that would mean the world to h_im.

"_Tu sei un Auditore. Sei un combattente. Percio combattente!_"

Desmond didn't under_stand it at all but the voice was strong and soft and rich with lo_ve. And so ti_ny legs moved, te_sting his body out and he too_k a deep breathe and the air tas_ted so sweet so sweet that he rememb_ered all his discomfort and let out a gre_at wail. And behind all of his wa_ils was another voice, a woman he would cherish his entire life, and the that strong voice said with gre_at pride:

"Ezio. Ezio Auditore da Firenze!"

And th_at would be a name that would be feared and loved and forgotten in history..._

* * *

Whoa. _Whoa_...

Did he... did he just live through being born? Did he just remember what it was like to be born? Everything was so... so...

"Get up. Let's go."

Desmond struggled to swing his legs over the Animus, sensations still swirling over him. He had been so _small_, and everything was just... just... "Yah, well..." he panted, "Uh, I'm gonna need a second..."

"There isn't time Desmond," Lucy said in clipped tones. "We have to leave." The blond reached down and pulled out something from the machine, a memory card or some sort, Desmond wasn't an expert and frankly wasn't looking as he still tried to get his legs under him. Baby legs were so _weak_, and the sensations were so _different_. A... A stillborn? Brought to life by the sound of its... his... that ancestor's father? How... Who...?

"_Ezio. Ezio Autidore da Firenze!_"

Was that mouthful the name? Desmond shakily staggered after Lucy, the door that she and Vidic always left through opening and for the first time since his captivity he went through those damnable doors. Beyond the cyan blue lighting was... a hall. A painfully drab, normal, unassuming hall. The jarring disparity with whatever Desmond had imagined only slowed him down further. Lucy was already power walking down the way, and Desmond half jogged to catch up, even if his mind was still on the blood writing on the wall and the fact he had just _lived through birth_.

"... We're really getting out of here, huh," he mused, looking around, taking in details and marveling that any of this was actually happening. Lucy didn't answer, still marching her way out of there, and her silence pressed the seriousness onto Desmond. He couldn't handle the silence, his own thoughts were entirely too loud and he wasn't remotely ready to process all of it. He tried for comedy. "Abstergo's got some fucked up interior decorators," he quipped, passing by an innocuous plant. It was all so barrenly _normal_, he couldn't stand it.

They navigated the maze of halls and closed doors before Lucy slowed at a corner. "Stay close," she murmured; not that Desmond needed to be told twice as he pressed up behind her. She looked around a corner briefly before half running to an elevator, Desmond hot on her heels.

"Hey! You're not supposed to be up here!"

Fuck. _Fuck_, not even twenty feet and they were already caught. They were dead, _dead_, and it was all so stupid and _fucked up_.

Desmond's head whipped around to see two men, obviously security, on the other side of a glass door. The one who yelled was pressing his hands on the glass, trying to open the door while the other was moving to some kind of callbox on the wall.

"I'm calling it in," he announced, picking up a receiver and punching numbers into the phone.

Lucy didn't even comment, she just switched to a flat out run, and Desmond was hard pressed to chase after her as he heard more damning words. "We have a breach in the research wing. I repeat: there's been a breach in the research wing. Send all backup..."

They were _so_ screwed! Desmond cursed as he continued to chase after Lucy. The pair ran left and right seemingly at random for Desmond but Lucy's focus never wavered, her face dead-set and determined. Two more security guards, not hindered by convenient glass doors this time, came upon them and Desmond watched in horror as they drew batons. Fuckity _fuck_ this beating was going to hurt and he didn't want to die like this and it wasn't fair and he what the hell was he supposed to-

Only Lucy, instead of turning and running in a different direction, bolted _towards_ the two armed security guards and deflected a strike from the first, shoving him in the back before blocking a second strike from the second guard, kicking him once, twice, hard in the gut. She stole his baton from him with ease as he crumpled to his knees and mercilessly struck him in the head with her newly acquired blunt object before turning and viciously attacking the first guard, sneaking under his guard and stabbing him with her baton before a brutal upper strike that sent blood flying.

Holy _shit_ that woman could fight!

And, nonplussed, she was still running.

Gaping, Desmond had no choice but to follow.

She finally stopped at an elevator, Desmond skidding almost into her in his attempt to stop before the doors slid open with a soft hiss. She pressed a button and the door closed, giving them both a moment of quiet.

One corner of his mind finally started to catch up. "What about the cameras?" he asked, eying the red blinking light above them nervously.

"I rigged them to loop old footage," she said. "How do you think I managed to hide all your nighttime snooping from Abstergo?"

... _That_ was her too? Holy...

"You're good..." he breathed, awestruck.

"So I've been told," she said with a smirk, pride filling her face briefly before what Desmond was quickly staring to call the Terminator face reappeared. "But they're on to us now. We need to hurry."

The elevator dinged and the two exited, Lucy still charging forward, her head swiveling left and right, keeping an eye out for more guards. Desmond followed, admiring her ability (and her ass) as they navigated yet more hallways. She paused at a corner, motioning for him to stop. She gestured for him to have a look, and when his gaze crested the corner he saw what at first glance was a cubicle farm, albeit fancier and more expensive and _enormous_, with glass instead of cloth tackboard, office chairs, desks and... and...

"We need to get to that elevator on the other side of the room," she whispered in his ear, hot breath tickling his nerves. "Follow my lead, but keep an eye out for security. I'd rather avoid a fight."

"Yeah..." he whispered, and that was all the confirmation she took before darting forward, Desmond once more left to catch up. It was like some kind of spoof of the beginning of that movie, _The Matrix_, keeping a low center of gravity through the maze of cubicles to keep from being seen. The pair ducked left and right, around cubicles with computers, occasionally decorated with a plant but mostly sterile, dull and drab.

Then they passed another glass rectangle of office space and Desmond saw the distinctive curved table.

"Is that an Animus?"

"Stay with me," Lucy said, looking left and right at an intersection. She ducked right and Desmond followed, his eyes roving over the rooms more acutely now. He saw another curved table, and another, and another.

"What the... How many of them are there?" He darted through one mini hall filled with the dreaded machines, and Desmond's head once more overloaded with information he couldn't process. He tried to crack a joke. "Is it Animus-es? Or Animi? What do you think Lucy? ...Lucy?"

But she was in Terminator mode again, and she was proving to be a terrible audience when she was like that. But, then again, Desmond couldn't blame her either. If _he_ was stressed to the point of saturation he couldn't imagine how Lucy, mastermind of this breakout, was feeling. He tried for a less awkward question. "What do they need with all of them?" There were so many...

But they cleared the farm and made it to the elevator. Lucy quickly slid a card through a security terminal, punching in a code.

Nothing happened.

"Fuck," she cursed, surprising Desmond with her language. "I thought this card would work, it must be on a separate system and I don't have the code."

They were stuck? They were stuck when they needed to get _out_ of here? There had to be something, some way to fix this, something Lucy had missed, something she couldn't _see..._

"Wait..." he said, thinking of the blood on the wall and his eyes and Altair. His gaze focused on the keypad, his mind drawing in on itself and opening it up to the eyes of an eagle, begging the majestic bird for help. Blue filled his vision, and he could see the soft glow of fingerprints like some kind of lame crime drama. Frowning, he looked at the numbers: 2, 3, 4, 7. He pressed them in order. Nothing, shit. He tried again, in reverse order. Still nothing. Come on, come _on_, open. He tried again.

And the light dinged to life, and the doors slid open.

Lucy's face softened into open surprise. "How did you do that?" she asked.

Desmond blinked, his vision returning to normal. "I... don't know," he said, uncertain how to explain it.

Time pressed on both of them, and the question would have to wait, they walked into the elevator, and Lucy pressed another button. "It's always something," she muttered to herself.

Desmond was still trying to catch up. He had moved on from blood on the wall and escape, but the next roadblock hit his head. "What was that in the Animus? Subject Sixteen? Ezio..." he winced at his butchering of the name. "Audi..." That sounded even worse. "Audisomething?"

"I think we've been wrong all along," the blond said in clipped tones. "That's why we need to get out of here. Vidic and the Templars they're only part of the problem..."

... Only _part?_ Desmond was still stuck on living through a still birth, he didn't need another roadblock dumped on his head.

"What do you mean?" he asked, feeling an impending headache.

"I'll explain when we get there," she said in a tone that ended the discussion.

"Get _where_?" Desmond asked, frustrated. Where were they going? Back to New York? The Black Hills? Where were they in the first place?

But the elevator dinged again, and Lucy ignored him in favor of striding out into some kind of parking garage. Desmond trailed after her, confused and frustrated and struggling to keep up with the bombshells that were going off left and right. No sooner had they cleared the elevator that five guards all but ran towards them. Lucy obliged by leaping into the fray, still holding the bloody baton from before and adding more hemoglobin to it's spatter. Desmond, unarmed and only really experienced in barfights, held back. The guards were of course not nearly so obliging as two moved in on him. One swung hard and Desmond ducked under it, proud that he had avoided the blow for all of a millisecond before the second guard socked him hard in the stomach. Far more trained than the drunkards in a bar, Desmond was sure this was going to end very badly for him, but he persisted regardless.

He wondered dimly why he was fighting instead of running.

Had he run out of places to run?

No, there was stubbornness here, one he never remembered experiencing before.

_"I've never been one to run!"_

_ "Never been one to listen, either."_

_ "I still live because of it!"_

... Altair?

One punch was inches from his face before Desmond darted to the side, grabbing the wrist as it blew past him and twisted, following up with a hard punch of his own, under the armpit, and kicked at his assailant's knees. The moves shocked him, and he couldn't quite understand how he'd even done it. The second guard growled and moved forward, but Desmond backed up quickly, panicked over what his body had done without his knowledge. Shit, _shit!_ He evaded a second swing, light on his feet and deflected another attack before tripping over the body of the guy he took down. Yelping, he skittered backward, half on his ass, as the security guard advanced for a final strike. Bar fights didn't compare to trained men, he was out of his league, and he was going to _fucking die...!_

But then, of course, a certain bloody baton landed heavily on his skull, and the man fell, leaving Lucy to stare over him.

"Come on," she said, adrenaline making her voice gruff. She offered a hand and Desmond took it, looking out at the five groaning and unconscious bodies at their feet and somehow ashamed he'd been outclassed by the hot blond. Male ego.

But there was no time for that as they dashed through the structure to a nondescript white sedan. Lucy popped the trunk, jutting her head in motion that he get in.

"You're joking," Desmond said, hoping for something else.

"It's for your own protection," she said in a matter-of-fact voice, and Desmond was forced to agree she was right.

"Oh man," he groaned, crawling in and hoping the spare tire wouldn't dig into his back too much.

When he looked up she smiled briefly. Softly. "We're almost there," she said gently, and it was the Lucy he had known for a week, compassionate and soft and so, so beautiful.

Just for her, he smiled.

The drive took forever. The tire _did_ dig into his back, as did the wrench and other equipment necessary for a change, and Lucy seemed determined to hit _every_ bump and dip and crack from here to wherever with shoddy suspension.

Desmond curled into himself as much as he could, and tried to let his brain catch up with what was happening to him. Abstergo had kidnapped him, forced him into that damned Animus machine from hell and make him relive memories of his tough-as-nails ancestor of the Third Crusade, an Assassin who fell from glory and killed his way back to the top only to find out his master had betrayed him and used a Piece of Eden to mind-control his entire home. Now, Lucy had broken him out after making him relive birth and driving to a heretofore undisclosed location. And there was Subject Sixteen, whoever the hell he (she?) was and the freakin' _blood on the wall._ God, what a fucked up life he had fallen to. Bitter resentment coursed through him, and he spent most of the ride deciding whom he hated more: the Assassins, the Templars, or himself.

They eventually came to a stop and Desmond heard Lucy kill the engine. He assumed that meant freedom, and he felt several parts of his body pop after hours of being curled up into a tight space.

"Thanks for that," he groaned in a flat voice. "It was great... being shoved into the trunk, being bounced around. _Loved_ it."

Lucy smiled briefly, before gesturing him to follow. "This way."

"So... gonna tell me where I'm going now?" Desmond asked, wondering if he was going from one cage to another.

"There was a reason for the escape, Desmond," Lucy said.

"Figures," he muttered bitterly.

"We need your help," the blond pressed, leading him into a warehouse-like structure. The two began climbing a steel staircase.

"For what?" Desmond demanded, angry that things weren't being explained to him. "Another treasure hunt through time?"

Lucy shook her head slightly. "Abstergo's gonna replace their Apple of Eden. The map your ancestor found guarantees it. The other Assassins... They'll do what they can, where they can. But..."

"What? What is it?"

"We're losing this war, Desmond," Lucy said, turning a pair of pained eyes to him. Hurt rippled over her face and she fought to contain it. "The Templar's are too powerful. And every day more of us die..."

Desmond couldn't refute that look of vulnerability. But still, "I still don't see how I fit into things."

"We're going to train you, turn you into one of us."

... Wait, _what?_

"What?" Desmond shouted, a panicked crack in his voice. "No, no... you've seen me in action - I'm no good at this!" He hadn't even managed one guard in that fight in the parking garage, Lucy had done everything! His training from before was agility, climbing, and even then he hadn't used those skills in ten years! "And even if I were... it would take months - years, even." To retrain his muscles, to build up muscle memory, endurance, all of it...

"No," Lucy replied with confidence. "Not with the Animus. Not with the Bleeding Effect."

She... She was serious...

"But I'm just _one_ guy..." he said, desperate.

"Sometimes that's all you need," she said, smiling at him. Something in Desmond melted at her belief in him, and he took a breath.

"So that's why you found him... My ancestor. What was his name? Ezio?"

Lucy nodded, ascending the stairs and leading him down a hall. "If you can follow in his footsteps, you'll learn everything he did just like he did. Years of training absorbed in a matter of days."

"... You broke me out of Abstergo and brought me here _just_ to make me an Assassin?" ... Nothing else? No other motive? Just to use him? He felt a pinprick of hurt.

"Look," she said stopping and turning around, "there's more to it than that, but it'll have to wait. Trust me, okay?"

More to it than using him... and she had done so much for him already during his captivity... And she was... He smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "Alright. I'm in. Tell me what you need."

The blond blinked, her pouty lips open and gaping. "Really? You're sure?"

"I... thought you'd be happy about this," Desmond said, confused.

"Sorry..." she said quickly, backpedaling. "I'm just a little surprised. I spent the whole ride over here figuring out how I was going to convince you to do this..."

"Save it," Desmond said, stepping in closer. "After what those Templar bastards put me through, I'm ready, willing, and able." Whatever he thought of the Assassins, the Templars were infinitely worse because they _didn't care_, and whatever Desmond thought of his father, Lucy _did_ care, and had gone out on of very thin limb for him. The Templars were wrong, and Lucy was living proof that the Assassins were more than just rhetoric.

Relief like Desmond had never seen in her before flooded her face, and without a thought she threw her arms around him and hugged him. Desmond briefly flashed back to the time he had hugged her, after hearing how she had been trapped by Abstergo. The heavy emotion around her was different though; relief instead of terror, and Desmond liked this much better. They fit together perfectly. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear, and pressed herself just a little bit tighter before pulling away.

Desmond was grinning like an idiot, he was sure of it, but he followed after her.

He may never have had a proper public school education, but Desmond did watch the History Channel on occasion, and the building Lucy had taken them two felt like an old warehouse or factory built back around the industrial revolution. Exposed brickwork framed huge arched windows that were broken into smaller planes of fogged glass (some grayer than others), with structural pillars of brick, then wood to support the massive weight of the building. The modern, steel stairs Lucy lead them up brought them to what was likely a workroom separate from the factory floor, or a very large office that had been converted for Assassin needs. The building had clearly been retrofitted over the years with fluorescent lights hanging overhead and clean hardwood floors.

The converted space had separate desks and what looked like a living area of couches and a bed behind a glass-partitioned wall. Under some of the window light, as almost the center stage of the room, was an orange reclined chair, hooked up to an impressive set of servers. In fact, turning, Desmond saw more servers, with the cool blue-green light of Abstergo flickering at the lightning pace of processing. There were shelves of massive books, many ancient looking, and many appearing to be modern technical manuals.

A young woman who looked more like a punk-rock DJ glanced up and saw them, immediately standing. "Lucy! You made it!" She came over in a rush, pulling her large headphones down to her neck and embracing Lucy in a tight hug. "God!" she said, pulling back to study her, "It's been so long! Seven years! Can you believe it?" The almost-DJ's grin was almost splitting her face and Lucy had one to match.

"Indeed," came a British accent. A tall man looking very upper-crust and above their ragtag group stepped forward, also smiling, though more gently. "Welcome back."

Desmond felt oddly like he was intruding and started to examine the converted space, but the redheaded Englander turned right to him.

"Ah, so you must be the infamous Subject Seventeen..." He raised an eyebrow and pushed up his glasses. "Desmond Miles, was it?" Arrogance dripped from his voice and Desmond glanced to Lucy to try and figure out why this guy had such a stick up his ass. She only smiled softly.

Desmond responded, "Who are you?" in a decidedly cool, if neutral tone.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners?" The redhead replied, a touch more civilly. "I'm Shaun Hastings," he turned to the almost-DJ, "this is Rebecca Crane."

Rebecca stepped forward, her arm outstretched to shake his hand and with a wide grin. "Nice to meet you, Desmond," she said in a contralto voice that sounded like it has shouted a great deal in years past.

Desmond shook her hand, gave a small smile, and opened his mouth for a similar greeting but the arrogant accent interrupted him.

"Right, well it's been lovely chatting, but if you don't mind, Desmond, it's best we get straight to work." Shaun glanced around them. "Time is precious," he said quietly. "Doubly so these days." He turned on his heel and went straight to the what must have been his station by the wall with lots of papers and maps tacked up with strings connecting them in some way Desmond wouldn't even try to guess at.

Rebecca stepped forward, clearly used to easing whatever toes this Shaun character stepped on. "We got everything set up and ready, Lucy," she said, switching topics. "Just say the word and we'll get going."

Lucy smiled warmly, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the memory device she'd pulled from the Animus during their quick escape. "Here," she said, handing it over. "I brought you something. A parting gift from Abstergo."

Rebecca's face seemed to light up like a toddler on Christmas. "Whoa!" her jaw dropped. "The memory core! This is amazing!" she looked up with her face-splitting smile. "With their data, things are gonna go a lot faster!" She started to backstep, turning to the intimidating orange recliner. "I'll get to work merging the code... we'll need to see which pattern buffers and storage protocols connect with the assembly code..."

Desmond chuckled quietly. Given the technobabble starting to spill from her mouth, he doubted he'd ever understand Rebecca fully. Clearly she had some engineering in her background, along with being a shouting DJ.

Lucy looked to him with a soft, warm smile. "It'll take her some time to merge the code on that. Would you like the ten-cent tour?"

He couldn't quite hold back a grin. "Sure, but could we start with the part that has a shower? That was a long car ride in a trunk."

She gave a light laugh. "The bath is this way," she said, taking his arm.

The shower was heavenly, especially after being stuck in the car trunk for who knew how many hours. It eased his aching muscles and refreshed him. Desmond finally was starting to feel human again. The memories of the blood on the wall, his captivity, it was hard to believe it was behind him now. But now he faced a new kind of captivity. The kind he'd escaped ten years ago. But where growing up was a prison he didn't understand and wanted escape from, now he was entering the responsibilities of chains of the way of life of an Assassin with open eyes and completely willingly. He'd told Lucy the truth. After what the Templars had done, _Abstergo_ had done, he was ready, willing and able to take them down.

Personally, Desmond doubted he could do all that much. He was only one person. But if he could help, he would.

Refreshing as the shower was, Desmond still felt tired after the day of travel, and Lucy's tour showed him down into the factory-come-warehouse and the two rooms they had for sleep. One for Lucy and Rebecca, one for Shaun and now Desmond. (Desmond vowed to himself he'd take the bed behind the glass partition rather than share a room with that arrogant ass.)

Lucy brought them to their small kitchenette and made a couple of sandwiches for him. Desmond, admittedly, was getting tired of sandwiches from Abstergo, but hopefully he'd have a chance to actually cook a little now. While hardly chef material, Desmond did think he was a decent cook. When he mentioned this to Lucy, she brightened at the idea of something other than take-out, instant, or plain old sandwiches.

Leaning back from his sandwich, Desmond hesitantly brought up a subject that had been bugging him. "Lucy," he started, "I've been seeing things. Symbols in my prison-bedroom. The code on the keypad. Just like Altair."

She nodded, sipping her drink. "It's from the bleeding effect," she replied. "You're taking on more than your ancestor's memories. You're taking on their skills too. In this case, Eagle Vision."

"Skills?" He'd read the email at Abstero outlining the effects, but it had seemed so far-fetched. So out-there. And Subject Sixteen had gone insane as a result. He had to wonder how much time it would take.

"You're more receptive now," Lucy replied, looking away with a touch of guilt. "So if all goes well, everything Ezio learns in the Animus, you'll learn too."

Desmond leaned back with a sigh. "You really think this will work? That I'll become an assassin?"

"You already _are_ an assassin," she replied with a smug smile. "You'll just be better at it."

"Yeah. Hopefully _much_ better at it," came the sarcastic, arrogant tones of the Brit snob, leaning at the door with a cup of tea in one hand. "I mean seriously - I saw the tapes of you from Abstergo. You didn't even _try_ to escape."

Desmond's anger flared briefly, because he _had_ tried, thank you. By getting information instead of stupidly throwing himself at an armed and trained guard. But he let it slide and turned to Lucy. "What a dick."

She chuckled and Shaun merely scoffed, dropping off his teacup in the sink and stalking away.

Desmond went to bed shortly after, exhausted, while Lucy sat at her desk. He fell asleep to the light chatter of Lucy and her friends, getting the first deep sleep he'd had since he was taken. He wasn't safe, not by a longshot, but the sweet taste of freedom did a lot to ease him into slumber.

* * *

He woke to someone lightly shaking his shoulder. He looked up blearily and saw Lucy above him, smiling softly. "Sorry, Desmond, but we need to get started."

He nodded, yawned, and fumbled by the freaky orange chair and down the hall to the kitchenette, glad to even be able to get his own breakfast instead of getting it at gunpoint.

Rebecca stumbled worse than he did into the kitchenette, making a somewhat beeline to the coffee pot.

"You okay?" Desmond asked as she chugged a mug then poured another.

"Yeah," she replied in her contralto voice. "Up all night merging the code from that memory core. Can Abstergo use a standard system like Windows, Linux, even a Mac? Nooo," she grumbled, sipping from her mug. "They have their own OS and even then, the Animus OS is different from their standard OS, and the only way to make anything talk to each other is to get into the actual assembler code. DOS, it isn't."

Desmond gave a quiet chuckle. "I think I maybe understood every other word."

Rebecca blinked, then gave her own chuckle. "Sorry, all-nighters usually leave me unable to shut-up." Going into a cabinet, she pulled out a bag of popcorn and set it into the microwave. "We'll get through our morning meeting, I'll set you up and monitor for a while, then those couches have my name on it."

"I understand the feeling," Desmond replied, saluting his mug to her. "Sleep is such a necessary evil."

She smiled her face-splitting smile. "Word of advice? Don't mess with Shaun's tea. I may not be able to keep my mouth closed when tired, but he's even more of a dick when he hasn't had his tea."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, enjoy your breakfast. I'm heading for the morning meeting. Sooner we get it over, sooner I set you up, sooner I get to sleep."

"I'll be along in a minute."

She gave her own mug-salute and headed back, a little steadier than when she came in.

Desmond finished his breakfast quickly and headed back. Lucy was sitting next to Rebecca, both eating from the popcorn bag the techie brought with her. Shaun was at the massive flatscreen that dominated the wall, glancing through some papers. Desmond sat on the other couch, knowing the Solidarity of Girlfriends made it a Bad Idea to sit with Lucy and Rebecca as they were clearly catching up after being apart for so long.

It was strange being here like this. For the past week, he'd been captive of Abstergo, and now he had freedom of a kind.

"Right, now that we're all _finally_ here," Shaun groused, clicking his remote to the monitor, "let's get started."

On the massive widescreen came a picture of Abstergo's logo. "The biggest event of yesterday, needs no recap. Lucy has finally returned after seven years of undercover work at Abstergo, and dragged along with her our baby assassin, Desmond."

Both Lucy and Rebecca chuckled, while Desmond merely rolled his eyes. New Guy equaled Fair Game, after all. He'd gone through this whenever he got a new job, he could hardly call this a surprise. Though he'd have thought that, as an Assassin, this arrogant ass would be more mature about it.

"Now," Shaun continued, "since Desmond has agreed to join us, there is the matter of actually _making_ him an assassin. Lucy's recommended using the Bleeding Effect to our advantage."

Lucy nodded solemnly. "It's the fastest way. By living through his ancestor's training, he'll get the muscle memory and instincts necessary to be able to survive in a fight."

Desmond had been thinking about that. "I'll also need an exercise regime."

All three turned to look at him, surprised.

He just rolled his eyes. "Look, I might get the muscle memory and instincts, but my body has been lying around for over a week. Even with my jobs and exercises to keep in shape, I'm not going to be at _peak_ condition for a while. I'll need strength and endurance mostly, since I've kept up my agility training to a degree."

"Great idea!" Rebecca gushed, leaning over Lucy to slap Desmond's leg. "We've been so focused on the technical aspects of what we can do, I don't think we'd have ever thought of that!"

"I remember your walks," Lucy chuckled, clearly remembering how irritated they made Vidic. "I think we can schedule that for the evenings, say before dinner?"

Desmond nodded.

Shaun groused. "Clearly our newest member has even _more_ catch up to do than originally estimated." He clicked his remote and continued. "I've been digging around records for this Ezio ancestor. Abstergo records mostly talk of some of the historical figures of the time and I've already started setting about a database of a lot of the major events of the time period. Some fascinating contemporaries this ancestor has. Machiavelli, the Medici, da Vinci. These memories will be fascinating."

Desmond noted a certain appreciative gleam in the Brit's eye. Must be a history buff.

"Since we've rescued Desmond and Abstergo is out in force looking," Shaun continued, "we'll be maintaining our communication blackout with the rest of the Assassins. We _should_ be safe here, but the blackout will serve as an additional security blanket."

Lucy frowned. "Do you have an update for me on what _has_ been going on? My communications have been sketchy at best."

Shaun gave her a small smile. "Your wish, my command, and all that."

What followed was a lot of names and locations and information that Desmond had no prior knowledge of and went straight over his head without any sort of context. There was Osaka, Russia, an outpost in rural Mexico, somewhere that sounded like the Congo, names of people Desmond felt might be familiar, but were mostly just noise in his ears as he recognized nothing. He was sinking further back into the soft cushions of the couch getting bored out of his skull with this debriefing as Lucy was avidly taking notes and asking questions, trying to catch up on what she'd been missing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Desmond spotted Rebecca stifling a nod and he gave her a hidden smile.

She grinned back as well, then winked. In a blink of an eye, she had pulled out a kernel of popcorn and sent it flying through the air, hitting Shaun right in the ear. The arrogant ass turned with a severe frown and in response, Rebecca just through another piece, making it bounce precisely off of his glasses, leaving a buttery smear.

He raised an eyebrow as both Lucy and Desmond started hiding snickers.

"Rebecca? Really?"

She just smiled unrepentantly and aimed another. It landed right in Shaun's small red fauxhawk before Lucy reached out and snatched the bag from the techie's hands.

With supreme dignity, the Brit brushed the popcorn out of his hair, pulled out a handkerchief, and cleaned his glasses. "Tell you what, Lucy, I'll fill you in later, once the children have been put to bed."

"Probably a good idea," Lucy replied with just as much seriousness. If you didn't look at the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Let's get Desmond set up and started."

"Right, meeting adjourned," Shaun replied.

"I'll boot up my baby," Rebecca said, stealing her popcorn back and heading down to her computer by the orange recliner. Lucy took her computer nearby and Shaun went to his bulletin board wall. Desmond followed, walking over to Lucy.

"Hey... Listen," he said quietly. "I just wanted to say thank you." Because he'd still be stuck in Abstergo if it weren't for her. "And that... I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Lucy asked, perplexed.

"Yeah, you know, before," he replied. "Everything at Abstergo. You risked a lot for me. It was just..." Desmond sighed. "I wasn't ready."

She smiled at him. "It's okay," she said quietly.

"No," Desmond insisted. "Going through all that. Knowing that the Templars still exist. What they're planning..."

"What's done is done, Desmond," Lucy interrupted. "You're here now and that's what matters."

He nodded. He still felt guilty for the danger he'd put her in, the risks she had to take to free him. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. She gave a smile and patted his hand.

A glance at the orange recliner showed Rebecca was still checking cables and booting up her "baby", so Desmond walked over the Shaun and his bulletin board. He'd at least _try_ to be sociable.

"What's all this stuff for?" he asked, gesturing to the maps and documents.

The Brit swiveled in his chair, looking insulted and above it all. "This stuff, Desmond, oh this 'stuff' is nothing special, really, this 'stuff' is just the stuff that keeps our entire operation from falling apart, really." And even though Desmond was standing and Shaun was sitting, Desmond got the distinct impression Shaun was looking down his nose at him. "It requires a great deal of concentration to keep it all moving so you'll forgive me if I don't have time to play meet-and-greet."

Arrogant ass.

Rebecca, however, was happy to provide information. "Shaun's in charge of maintaining our knowledge archives - like a digital library," she said as she finally sat at her station and started booting up. "He'll be riding shotgun with me while you're in the Animus. Anything of note, he'll make a database entry for it."

Desmond nodded. "I see."

"Which means you clearly weren't listening during the morning meeting," Shaun groused under his breath. "I also provide tactical support for the other Assassins. You know, Desmond, the ones who are out there," he said with a sneer, "actually doing 'stuff'. Risking their lives, little things like that?"

Right. It wasn't just that Desmond was the New Guy. Shaun had _other_ worries and Desmond made a convenient target for frustrations. He shook his head as he headed over to the orange recliner and Rebecca.

With a heavy sigh, he sat down on the orange recliner. "So you'll be running this thing?"

"Yeah," Rebecca said cheerfully. "I take care of Baby. It's my job to keep her up and running."

"Baby? You mean the Animus."

"Actually," she drawled, pulling off her headphones again and tapping on her keyboard, "I prefer Animus two-point-oh, since Baby's twice as _awesome_ as anything you'll find at Abstergo." Her face was split with her smile again, as she continued with great enthusiasm. "The Templars might have deeper pockets than us, but they've got no ambition. No passion! No competitive edge! That's why," she winked, "even with all their resources, anything they can do, I can do better." She dipped her head coquettishly. "Faster, too!"

Desmond smiled at her and tried to relax. "So how does this work?"

Rebecca came over with a cable and pulled up his hoodie's sleeve.

"Of course."

"Deep breath."

"Ah!" The cold metal slid far too easily into his arm, indicating that Rebecca had more practice at this than he really cared to think about.

"Oh what are you?" Shaun called from his bulletin board. "A tiny child?"

"Shaun!" Rebecca reprimanded.

"Well..."

Desmond closed his eyes, his focus drifting.

"Here we go," he heard Rebecca say, almost like from a distance.

Really, this was like taking a nap. Much better than the pressure at the back of his skull from Abstergo.

The loading room was different, Desmond noticed. Still white, but not fog. He secretly found that less creepy and debated on commenting, but Rebecca wasn't kidding when she said _faster_, too, because no sooner had he acclimated himself to the white that buildings seemed to spring up from _nowhere_. Desmond startled, stepping back slightly, and immediately recognized that this was decidedly _not_ Syria. Not mosques, no _souks_ or _madrasaahs_, no Roman arches. All the buildings were in neutral browns and whites and some oranges; tiled roofs were everywhere, and the architecture was so...

"Where am I?" he muttered to himself, looking around. He was on a bridge of some kind, overlooking a river that was spotted with the occasional gondala. Venice? No, he wasn't a _Venetian_, he was a proud son of _Firenze!_ Desmond blinked, startled a little, and turned around to see a veritable throng of compatriots; friends, all well fed and slightly drunk, rubbing their fists and stretching their muscles, itching for a fight. _"Boys will be boys,"_ his father said, only Desmond's father never said that, and he realized he was starting to sy_nch with his ancestor..._

* * *

**Author's Notes: **This was our Memorial Day weekend.

Three days to eek out these fifteen odd pages for your enjoyment. It's started, ladies and gentlemen. We're novelizing AC2. You'll have to wait for the future chapters, since we're still writing the thing, and we have a beta now, too. But hopefully this will tide you over.

Also, as a pseudo-disclaimer. Neither of us thought it particularly fair that AC1 only had a minimal number of Arabic: souk, madrasaah, assassyun, and Altair's little blurb at the end, while AC2 and Brotherhood have entire paragraphs of Italian. Besides that, we don't read, speak, or remotely understand Italian, and while listening to it with subtitles in a game is cool, writing it in fanfiction is a headache waiting to happen. In light of that we've given ourselves three "rules" for using Italian: Ezio's assassinations, curses, and "polite" language like "Hi," and "How are you." We haven't decided yet if we'll translate them, per se, but we will at the very minimum gives them a context so that, even if you don't understand the meaning, you'll understand which of the above three it is. In other words: how the Italian works for this fic is still in the works.

This is exciting. We still have a lot of decisions to make and creative nuances to invoke, but we look forward to the ride and hope you'll be patient with us a little longer. Let us know what you think!


	2. A Good Life We Lead

**Part Two: A Good Life We Lead...**

They had supped early, cleaning out the food and most especially the wine; a post-Christmas celebration. Ezio Auditore da Firenze himself was only slightly drunk; he had learned the hard way (and several times over) via his brother Frederico that starting a fight when drunk _never_ turned out the way he wanted it, and it only left bruises on top of the hangover the next morning. Besides, _watching_ drunks was far more entertaining, he was discovering, and _fighting _them was even more fun.

The crowd of his friends was about ready to burst, and Ezio thought it only appropriate to give them a target fitting their built up energy. "We stand together!" he shouted, pumping his fist in the air, his audience happily following suit and cheering. A few swayed on their feet, and one or two were topping off the last of the wine bottles. Enthusiasm swept over them and Ezio was only too happy to continue with his motivating speech.

"Do you know what brings us here tonight?" he demanded, a bright grin on his face as anticipation began to fill him. "_Honor_!" he shouted, generating even more wails and hoopla from his friends. "Vieri de' Pazzi slanders my family's name and forces his own miseries upon us," Ezio explained. He knew details would fly over everyone's heads, and he himself did not understand why the Pazzi hated his family so. What did the Auditore have to do with Vieri's father's arrest? It must simply be contempt, and Ezio was more than happy to fuel a harmless rivalry. It wasn't as if Vieri was any _competition_ to begin with. His friends were shouting again, and Ezio raised his hands to calm them and help point them in the right direction. "If we-"

"Enough of your nonsense, idiot!"

Ezio turned to see Vieri de' Pazzi with his own gaggle of friends, the other young man's face twisted in contempt and hatred. Ezio was unconcerned; he even offered a cordial greeting.

"_Buona sera_, Vieri," he said amiably, grinning to his friends who snickered and snorted. "We were just talking about you," he added before he threw in his dig, "I'm surprised to see _you_ here. I thought the Pazzi hired others to do their dirty work." When in doubt, insult male pride and the fight would eventually start. Ezio was curious to see how long it would take, or if it would just be an evening of posturing. That prospect was _boring_, however, and he hoped for a more favorable outcome.

"It's _your_ family that cries for the guards when there's trouble, coward!" Vieri spat from the other side of the bridge, stepping forward in anger. The insult to Ezio's own male pride was a nice attempt, but it simply couldn't affect Ezio. A harmless street fight was one thing; he would never, however, let it turn into something vicious. Vieri saw the lack of reaction and pushed further. "Afraid to handle things yourself?"

Oh, now that was just asking for it.

Ezio put on a suave, lecherous smile and turned to his friends. Those still clinging to the last dregs of sobriety saw where this was going and were already laughing. And so he turned to Vieri and made a broad, welcoming gesture.

"Your sister seemed quite satisfied with the 'handling' I gave her earlier," he happily said.

If male pride would not raise a fight, then family chastity always did.

Vieri's beady eyes just about tripled in size, and he shook so badly as Ezio's crowd burst out in laughter that the young Florentine thought the other man would tip over.

"Kill him!" Vieri shouted, spittle flying out of his mouth. His fist produced a rock (A rock! A cheap and dirty gamut!) and threw it towards Ezio and the crowds. The early evening sun blinded the young nobleman enough that he could not track the trajectory, and suddenly pain exploded in his mouth as the rock collided with his jaw. He saw blood splatter onto this embroidered vest, and the hand that had instinctively gone to hold his jaw came back with more of the red fluid.

It was all the prompting anyone on either side needed, and the pain drove Ezio forward, faster than his friends, to participate in the fight. The first Pazzi supporter he found was leveled with a vicious punch to the jaw followed by a kick to the groin. If Vieri wasn't going to fight honorably, then neither would Ezio! The seventeen-year-old pushed his way through two friends, grabbing the doublet of another supporter and landing three swift punches into his opponent's gut, expelling all air out of his lungs and more importantly, sending the poor man doubling over. Ezio happily let the man try to breathe in his knee as he rammed it up the supporter's face, sending him spinning to the ground. A third man grabbed at Ezio's sleeve but Ezio twisted out of the grip, some of his lace ripping, before landing a quick upp_ercut holy shit this kid can fi_ght and another fist to the gut.

Few men were standing by that point - on either side; proof that drunks made poor fighters, and Ezio mourned his friends' lumps and hangovers the next morning. But not too much.

"Hey!" a voice called from behind, and Ezio turned to see the dark locks of his brother jogging through the melee.

"Frederico!" he cried out happily, the buzz of adrenaline and wine and the joy of seeing his brother overtaking him. "What are you doing here?"

Three years older, Frederico was a much better fighter than Ezio and told many a fine tale of his exploits of physical altercations - from both men and women, and always made the young Florentine smile. Frederico had taken to tutoring Ezio in his ways, and while Ezio knew he had a long way to go, he also knew that he couldn't have a better teacher.

The twenty-year old smiled, easily dodging a Pazzi supporter and ramming his head into the rails of the bridge. One day, Ezio would do that just as easily. "I wanted to see if baby brother had finally learned how to fight!" he said heartily**.** He crossed his arms, as if waiting for a demonstration.

Ezio was only too happy to oblige as a Pazzi tried to rush him. Ezio countered with a clean headbutt followed by a kick to the face, sending the supporter flying. "And?" he asked with a bright smile on his face.

Frederico snorted. "You have style," he said with an appreciative smile. His eyes caught something behind Ezio and his face turned serious. "But endurance is what counts. Let's see how many of them you can ruin before they get the best of you."

Ezio turned, seeing a new throng of Pazzi supporters rounding the corner and joining them on the bridge. Reinforcements? Stupid cowardly Pazzi! This wasn't a fair fight. Ezio turned to see his own friends either on the ground or disappeared, probably having thought the fight was over or off to lick their wounds. That left only Frederico and himself to fight off the crowd approaching them. He looked to his brother and the pair shared a look.

And they grinned.

"A simple little brawl," Ezio said, grinning through the blood running down his chin.

"Nothing we can't handle," Frederico agreed, smiling.

And the two had the time of their lives, adrenaline pushing them through the crowd and technique shining as they overpowered the six newcomers and beat them deftly to the ground.

Vieri, who had of _course_ not participated in the fighting, was backing up in terror as Ezio finished his last brigand and began to advance, determined to repay the injury to his jaw _with interest_. Frederico stepped in front of him quickly.

"Hold on," he said quickly.

"What?" Ezio demanded, incensed. "We've almost won this!"

But his brother was looking with focus on Ezio's jaw, a hand almost reaching up to touch it. "Your lip..."

The young Florentine put a hand to his jaw again, sore and throbbing, and pulled away to see the bleeding had not yet stopped. Every stretch of his mouth hurt, but bravado quickly took over. "Just a scratch," he said, waving it off.

Frederico's mouth thinned, and his eyes changed. "Let a doctor decide."

"Since when did you care about doctors?" Ezio demanded, grinning through the pain, "I distinctly remember a time you fought - how many was it? - Seven brigands - All alone and came out on top with only a black eye and then went cavorting with one of your girlfriends an hour later. There was no doctor then!"

"Brothers are supposed to look out for each other," Frederico said, still eying the injury.

Ezio squirmed out of his brother's grip. "It's not necessary," he insisted. "Besides, I've no money for this doctor of yours."

At this the calculating look disappeared with a wry grin. "Wasted it on women and wine, huh?"

Ezio scoffed. "I'd hardly call it 'wasted'..." He attempted lecherous smile, but it pulled at his split lip too much and he winced instead. Frederico made a face and the little brother was forced to capitulate. "Lend me some florins then..." he said, holding out a hand. The twenty-year-old hesitated, and Ezio could only give a one-sided grin. "Or have you done the same?" he suggested.

They both laughed.

Frederico gestured to the groaning bodies at their feet. "Search them. There's bound to be something in their pockets."

"Thievery?" Ezio said with put on airs. "I'm shocked that my big brother endorses such scandalous behavior."

"Says the baby brother who just spent the last hour deliberately starting a fight," Frederico retorted. "Besides, to the victor go the spoils."

"In this we agree!" And Ezio quickly bent over one of the Pazzi supporters and searched his pockets, Frederico doing the same. The coin was pitiful, proof that the Pazzi didn't do a good job in buying off their friends, but they eventually were able to scramble together enough money. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off as well, and Ezio's jaw began to hurt something fierce.

"_Va bene_," Frederico said, counting up their spoils. "That should be enough. Let's get out of here before the guards actually show up..." The sun was hanging lower and lower in the sky, the day shift was almost over, and the night guards all knew the Auditore brothers by sight and by name. "The sooner we can go to the doctor, the sooner we can sleep."

"Sleep?" Ezio declaimed. "The night is young!"

"Hah, speak for yourself," Frederico said, making a show of yawning. "I had a full day of work at the bank, if I had to stare at any more columns of numbers and do any more calculations I'm certain my head would burst." The pair crossed the bridge and began making their way through the evening streets; many of the food merchants and other vendors were either packing up or seeking out one last customer or transaction as the crowds thinned and returned to their homes.

"Life is so _boring_ at the bank," Ezio said, nodding sagely. "I fall asleep just watching you. I'll _never_ understand how Father can enjoy it so much that he'll get up at all hours of the night to do even more work there."

"Oh, banking can be quite exciting when Father's involved," Frederico said magnanimously, a knowing grin on his face.

"And what does that mean?"

"I'll tell you when you're older," Frederico said in a coy voice, patting his brother on the shoulder.

"I'm seventeen. Isn't that old enough?"

"Not in the slightest. Wait until you're twenty."

Ezio pouted. "You _always_ say that."

"Ah, but this little morsel isn't mine to give. Father will tell you when you're twenty, just as he did me."

That caused a pause in Ezio, his stride slowing as he looked at his brother. "You mean there really is a reason he gets up at all hours and rides off to the other cities?"

Frederico gave Ezio a long, measured, serious stare.

And then he burst out laughing.

"You are so _easy_ to fool, baby brother!"

Ezio pouted until his split lip reminded him where they were going, and settled for scowling. The rest of the walk was spent that way, Ezio sullen while Frederico let him have his pout. They eventually entered into a small square, and Frederico darted forward a few paces to a stand that had not yet closed.

"_Ben trovato_, doctor!" he said brightly.

The doctor, dressed in wax coated clothes and beaked mask against the Black Death, turned to see the pair strolling up to him. Ezio could hear a prolonged groan. "The Auditore brothers," he said, "Why am I not surprised?" Frederico stepped aside, unhurt as he was, and the doctor saw immediately the problem, a hand snapping gently to Ezio's face. "You've made quite a mess of yourself," he muttered.

"It's nothing, really," Ezio muttered, still sour.

Frederico did not help matters. "You must help him," he said, clasping his hands together in a pleading gesture. "His pretty face is his only asset."

"_Fottiti_," Ezio growled. His brother only laughed at the vulgar curse.

"This is going to need stitches," the doctor muttered, "And will leave a scar."

That made both brothers pause. "What?" they asked in unison.

"I'm surprised it hasn't happened sooner," the doctor said, pulling out a small roll of cloth and dipping it in something, going first to Ezio's brow, and the stinging sensation made the young man realize he had more than just a split lip to worry about. "Sit on the table," he said, "This will take a while." A candle was lit and a needle held over it, and the brothers shared an apprehensive look as they realized how serious Ezio's injury actually was. Frederico gripped his brother's arm as Ezio endured the stitching, hissing on occasion but fighting to keep himself still and pliant to the doctors ministrations.

"There we are," he said after an hour's worth of work. Ezio worked his jaw in experiment. It was a little numb from whatever the doctor had given him, but the pain was utterly gone. "Now get out of here."

"_Grazie_," Ezio said, appreciative for the help.

"Quite a night," Frederico said as they crossed the square, the last of the evening torches being lit. He eyed his brother in worry, and Ezio was determined to erase that kind of look.

"Indeed," he said broadly, shrugging his shoulders. "I only wish they were all this much fun. Oh. Wait," he added with theatrical thought. "They are!"

Frederico chuckled, and Ezio preened at his victory.

"We should head home," the older brother said, stretching his arms over his head. "Father's sure to be wondering where we've gone."

Bleh, no doubt pacing the villa and planning just _what_ he was going to say to his two sons. "Yes," Ezio moaned. "And I'd rather avoid a lecture." He winced at the very thought.

The twenty-year-old gave a sympathetic smile, having been on the receiving end on his own list of lectures. "Up for a little race, then?" he asked.

"To where?"

"Eh..." he drew out, looking around. "The roof of that church." He pointed across the square to the Santa Trinita church. "On the count of three: One, two, three!"

And without any warning Frederico was off, leaping up a series of crates and then nimbly climbing up an arched window, earning a female shriek as he passed. Ezio, now well behind, took a different route, instead racing at full speed to the church his brother had pointed out and inside the haloed walls. He oriented himself briefly before dashing down the isle of pews, a wide grin on his face, and circled round behind the alter to the back halls, finding the choir staircase and running up them at full tilt before bounding through a roof access.

Frederico was already there and waiting. "Baby brother still has much to learn," he said easily.

"How do you _do_ that?" Ezio asked, but his brother only laughed.

"Come on then, this way," he said, gesturing to the bell tower.

"Where are you going?"

"You'll see."

And Frederico darted up the tower, leaving Ezio to stumble after him. His older brother called down suggestions on how to find handholds and footholds, what kinds of cracks were useful and what kinds were dangerous, and soon the pair had made the ascent. Frederico reached down and helped haul his brother up the last several feet, Ezio's arms burning from the new experience.

The entire city of Firenze lay out before them, Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore and the Giotto's Campanile of course dominating the skyline to the north, the dome and tower recognizable for anywhere in the valley as was the clock tower of the Palazzo della Signoria to the east. Below the nightlife had begun to wake, small lights akin to fireflies flitting about as the stars spread out above them in all their glory. The moon had just crested the Senese Clavey Hills, beginning its climb and reflecting off the Arno River to the south, where their most recent adventure had taken place. It was the most beautiful city in the world, and Ezio and Frederico were atop it, gazing down at its perfection and admiring its beauty.

"It is a good life we lead, brother," Frederico said, looking out over the sites, content.

Ezio sighed in happiness. "The best," he answered. "May it never change."

The two brothers stood together, admiring the view, for a long time.

"And may it never change _us_," Frederico said, looping his arm around Ezio's shoulders. An eagle passed their line of vision, and all Ezio could think was how perfect everything was. Just perfect.

"Alright, enough of that. We _really_ should get home. Let's go."

"Wait," Ezio said, grabbing his brother's arm. This night was too perfect, he didn't want it to end, and he knew just how the next chapter of this perfection should open. He threw a conspiratorial look over the rooftops, down to a particular alley and a particular house - more specifically a particular window.

"_Ezio_," Frederico said, a scold in his voice. "Let Cristina sleep."

The young Florentine grinned. "There will be time enough for that," he drew out, before adding with a grin, "_Later_."

"Ah," his brother said, waving a dismissive hand. "You're on your own then. I'd rather get my lecture from Father over with and go to bed."

"Already you've become a lazy old man!"

"And you have yet to grow up. Wait until you're twenty!"

"You'll still be three years older," Ezio said, "And I'll still be younger."

The pair left the church, Frederico showing Ezio how he had made his climb (and had subsequently beaten his brother) before they parted ways and Ezio moved energetically to his next stop, a grin splitting his face and pulling at his sore lip, but he could not contain it. After a brisk fifteen-minute walk he was under the window he wanted.

"Cristina!" he called up in a quiet voice that he hoped would somehow carry. "Cristina!"

The window opened, thankfully. A brunette with the most captivating eyes stuck her head out, looking down. "Who's there?"

"Me!"

"Oh, Ezio. I should have known!" She gazed down at him from above.

"May I come in?" he asked with a grin.

She took her time answering, running fingers through her hair, and for a moment Ezio thought his perfect night might not be so perfect, but finally she said, "Fine. But only for a minute."

Enthusiasm filled the young Florentine. "A minute is all I need!"

There was a delicate snort from above. "Indeed?"

Confused at first Ezio realized how his last words must have sounded, and he awkwardly started to backtrack.

"W-wait. Eh, that came out wrong." Why did Cristina always, _always_, make him say the wrong thing? Even _Frederico_ was never this flummoxed when he met a girl, and yet somehow Cristina Vespucci always managed to leave Ezio a little tongue-tied, a little nervous, a lot embarrassed, and always dumbstruck. Looking left and right, he assessed the wall below his love's window and decided it would serve all the tricks his brother had just taught him. He climbed up, slipping here and there, before cresting the window and surprising Cristina, still in only her nightgown - she had not had time to put on a robe.

But then, Ezio didn't plan on the nightgown staying on, long either, and it wasn't long before he crushed his lips onto hers - only to pull back in a hiss.

"Ezio?" the girl asked, before grabbing a candle and lifting up to his face. "Oh Blessed Mother, Ezio, what were you doing?"

"Defending my honor," he muttered, sullen that his romantic mood had been ruined.

"You'll have to tell me all about it," Cristina said, fingering the injury delicately with long, beautiful fingers. Ezio grabbed them and pressed his mouth into her palm, prepared for the sting this time.

"You see," he said slowly, "There was this Pazzi..." He kissed the crook of her elbow gently, and then licked it, sending a shiver up her arm. "And he was insulting my honor." He kissed higher this time, on her shoulder. It was open-mouthed, and he sucked slightly, as his lips would allow, and traced his teeth over the perfectly soft skin. "He threw a rock." And he kissed her neck this time; long, lingering, and as he did so she moaned, and he traced his hands to her shoulders, slipping the nightgown off. Only then did he pull back to admire the view.

Better.

_Much_ better.

And th_en he holy shit can we fast forward this or something?_

* * *

"What, you've never seen porn before?" Shaun asked.

"Aw, he has principals! That's sweet," Rebecca cooed. "Hot, even, don't you think Lucy?"

"Oh, sure, as hundreds, thousands of years of masculine pride squandered on such a measly specimen as one 'Desmond Miles.' Are we _sure_ this is his ancestor?"

Desmond growled. "Can we move on, please, before this gets any _worse?_"

"Yes, yes, let the catering begin. I really don't see what the problem - Oh, dear. You're a man after all."

"_Any time now!_"

"Sorry, Desmond," Rebecca said quickly, realizing what had happened, "it should be loading now."

* * *

"Cristina. Cristina! Wake up, your tutor will be here soon!"

Shit.

"Come, my daughter... is it really so terrible-"

The door opened and the brunette's father entered the room to see Ezio, naked, struggling to throw on his pants and his shirt at the same time, as Cristina, also naked was reaching desperately for her nightgown.

"_Figlio d'un cane_!" he cursed. "What is this?"

Retreat!

"Forgive me sir! I beg your pardon!" Ezio said quickly, his vest still only half on as he stumbled to the window. This was decidedly _not_ how he wanted to meet Cristina's father, and now, now...

"I'll kill you!"

Now he made a bad first impression. Oh, he would have to spin this _very_ carefully to curry favor. He held his hands up, placating even as he stepped further and further backwards.

"Now, now; that's not necessary..."

"Guards! Guards! Bring me his head!"

Ah, this was exhilarating and humiliating at the same time. He hopped out the window, grabbing the handholds he'd used the previous night and half-climbed, half-fell down to the street, running down the alley at full tilt. He burst into the street, buttoning himself up as he went and ignoring the occasional voice commenting on his state of undress or laughing at his retreat. He ran for a full twenty minutes before he felt safe enough to slow down.

And when he did. He laughed.

It was a perfect night. And today would be the perfect day. It was the perfect life.

Sighing in contentment, he made his way home to the villa Auditore.

The inner courtyard of the villa was full of people, as it was every morning, and Ezio could see his mother flitting about from one cluster of people to the next as they bought bread and rolls. She loved the bakery she opened, loved talking to the people, loved giving to the community.

"Good morning, Mother!"

"Good morning, son," she said, whisking by him to a mother and three children. "Your father is looking for you. After that, come see me, would you? I'll need your help after the bakery closes."

"I understand, Mother," he said, weaving his way through the crowd. He eventually navigated himself inside and through the halls. Frederico would be sleeping late, no doubt - lazy old man that he had become - but he wanted to see his other two siblings before going to work for his father (and put off the lecture he was certain to face).

His first stop was to Petruccio's room, he snuck in on almost silent boots, light streaming in gently from the drawn curtains and giving enough dim light that Ezio could make his way about the room.

Petruccio was the youngest of the Auditore clan. Frederico claimed he remembered all his siblings' birth, but Ezio was only a year and a half when Claudia was born, and so the only birth he remembered was Petruccio's. At four, he remembered not liking all the screams his mother made, and he remembered clutching his brother Frederico tightly as they waited in the hall for the birth to finish. Everyone involved said it was a natural part of birth, but at four Ezio could sense it was a difficult labor. This was supported by his seven-year-old-brother's tight face as the midwives kept calling for more towels. The night of the birth had their father pacing about, calling for doctors and surgeons both.

When the two brothers could finally welcome the new addition, Frederico had said - quite firmly - that the new baby was too small; even Claudia had not been that small and she was a girl. Their father's face was as tight as Frederico's, and he said that the two would have to be strong for him.

Growing up with a sickly brother had taught Ezio many things, and he made a point every morning to check on his little brother, now thirteen but still looking ten. The boy's dark locks hid most of his face, but his breathing was even, and Ezio breathed a small sigh of relief. The feather box that Petruccio had taken to carrying with him lay open by his bed, and Ezio closed it and pulled the sheets up to the boy's chin, running his fingers through his baby brother's hair. Petruccio stirred slightly before drifting off again, and Ezio smiled.

He left as quietly as he had come, and made his way down the halls to look for his sister.

He was surprised to hear sniffles, and his heavy steps quickened as he turned a corner, finding Claudia sitting under a window and clutching a handkerchief.

"Hey, _piccina_. How are you?"

His fifteen-year-old sister looked up, startled, and quickly turned away; but not before Ezio saw the tears. He sat down on the bench beside her.

"_Bene_..." she said in a watery voice, still looking away.

Ezio pursed his lips. "You shouldn't keep things from me," he said, coaxing her to turn and face him. Her cheeks were bright pink and wet, nose almost red from crying. Her sadness was forgotten temporarily as she looked at him in horror, and when a hand reached up to his chin Ezio realized his stitches were going to get a reaction for _days_. He cursed the doctor.

"It's nothing," he said gently, pulling her hand back down and holding it. "A scratch over honor. You should see the others," he added with a hopeful grin.

But Claudia burst into a fresh wave of tears, and Ezio quickly pulled her into an embrace, letting his shoulder get damp as the emotions swept over her. Claudia was the only girl of the children, and both he and Frederico took their roles as big brothers very seriously - and while _everyone_ looked after Petruccio, the two had made it perfectly clear that _they_ looked out for their "_piccini_," their "little one." Their mother often moaned at their influence over her, but when push came to shove, no one, _no one_, made her cry.

"It's Duccio," she finally mumbled into his shoulder, pulling away to wipe her face again.

Her _fiancé_ made her cry? Ezio stifled a growl. "What of him?" he asked carefully.

"He's been... unfaithful."

Bastard. _Bastard!_ Adrenaline was already filling Ezio. "Who told you this?" he demanded.

"The other girls," Claudia replied, wiping her eyes. "They were telling me what a good catch I had, how _satisfying_ he was. I thought they were my friends!"

"Harpies!" Ezio said quickly, waving them off with a dismissive hand. "You're better off without them. If they can't hold their legs together they have no business talking to ladies of honor like you."

"I thought I'd finally found someone who'd have me. Father was so proud. I know how difficult I am, I wouldn't end up a spinster with Duccio," his sister whimpered. "I loved him for that."

"No, Claudia," Ezio pressed. "You only thought you did." He put a hand to her knee and kissed her forehead, holding her. "You were grateful, and you thought that was love. Don't worry, we'll find you a husband yet, one that loves _you_. You, and no one else."

They sat together under the window, Ezio still holding his sister, the morning sun streaming patterns on the floor. Claudia was still young, only fifteen; her two older brother's influence and her age made her a maelstrom of emotion and made her difficult to marry. She had not yet grown into herself, and she confused moods for emotions. Duccio, willing to tolerate her temperament for her dowry, was like a gift from Heaven as it was becoming more and more obvious that Claudia was not the marrying type. She had been so grateful - so happy that the stress of finding someone appropriate for her was no longer on her small shoulders. Ezio would _ruin_ the bastard for upsetting her so much.

Claudia, it seemed agreed.

"He should _suffer_ for what he's done."

The sorrow had passed, and Claudia looked up to Ezio with furious eyes.

He grinned through his stitches. "Now _that's_ the Claudia I know and love," he said. "And don't worry about that bastard. I'll have a word with him."

Claudia nodded, a vindictive look on her face. "Kick him where it _hurts_."

Ezio nodded. "I'll make him a soprano for the rest of his life."

"Ezio."

The two siblings looked up to see the towering visage of their father, looking down on them.

"Good morning, Father," Ezio said wearily, knowing what was coming.

"Come with me," he said in a stern voice, spinning on his heel and marching down the hall, leaving Ezio to share a brief look with Claudia before rushing after him. Oooh, just how much trouble was he in? What did his stupid brother tell him?

"Is something wrong?" he asked, nervous and hoping feigned innocence would get him out of trouble.

Giovanni Auditore da' Firenze strode into his office and spun around, Ezio almost crashing into his powerful father.

"Do you think me blind and deaf, son?" he railed. "I know all about your fight with Vieri de' Pazzi last night, do you know how many complaints have been delivered to me? How much in damages I'm going to have to pay because you thought starting a fight might be fun?"

"Father, it was a friendly disagreement! He threw a rock and... Look at my stitches!"

"Irrelevant! And _then_ this little 'visit' to Cristina Vespucci!" his father added, stepping into Ezio's personal space. "Her father was beside himself to learn his little girl had been deflowered! Your behavior is unacceptable!" He shook a fist in emphasis of his point. "It...! It...!" At a loss for words, Giovanni turned around, taking a breath, and Ezio looked down, sullen and forlorn. He waited for the proverbial hammer to fall. Imagine his surprise, then, when his father suddenly laughed. He looked up, startled, as his father put a warm hand on his shoulder. "It reminds me of myself when I was your age!"

_That_ brought Ezio up short. "You?" he asked, almost afraid that this was a dream. He couldn't _imagine_ his stern, strict father was as wild as Ezio was.

"Ah, there are many stories I could tell you of my courtship with your mother, but she would kill me if I spoke of them to you," he said brightly, patting his son's shoulder. "I will speak to Miss Vespucci's father tomorrow and make arrangements. I'd like to talk to her before anything final is settled, but any girl that can make you risk being caught by her father is one worth marrying - and I speak from experience on that. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, father." Was he...? Was he really off the hook?

"_Bene_. I assume these misadventures won't interfere with your work today?"

Ezio grinned. "No, Father. You have my word."

Young and energetic, Giovanni had decided early on that Ezio would do little good as a banker just yet, and instead and made him something of a courier, sending him off to deliver letters or documents throughout the city, sometimes retrieve letters. Sometimes he timed his son, and Ezio took pride in the fact that he was the fastest runner in all of Firenze.

"I've prepared some documents for Lorenzo de' Medici to review. I need them delivered to him."

"With haste, Father," Ezio said, happy for the work.

"Return to me when it's done."

Ezio nodded and then, for the sake of formality, bowed slightly before taking the documents. In return for not being punished, Ezio was going to make this his fastest delivery yet, and then he could look for the bastard Duccio.

"Oh, and Ezio."

"Yes, Father?"

"Make sure you change before you go out. You look dreadful."

Ezio looked down at himself, his sleep-rumpled clothes, bloodied vest and ripped sleeves. He had the decency to look abashed.

"Yes, Father."

Ezio rushed back upstairs, intending to just wash his face before changing, but found instead that Annetta had drawn a bath for him. She said nothing, just pointing out a fresh set of clothes for him then turning her nose up and away. Ezio couldn't quite stop looking abashed as he set about giving himself a proper scrub down.

The bath was refreshing and the clean, warm clothes were wondrous. As he pulled back his hair, Ezio finally saw how his face looked in the mirror. It was indeed a vicious sight. No wonder talking felt like it was pulling at his stitches, his whole upper lip was swollen up to his nose and even to his cheek! Frederico was right, his pretty face was going to be ruined. Thankfully, his lower lip, though clearly having been cut, was not so swollen and hadn't needed stitches.

Ezio frowned at his reflection. He was going to have to refrain from his carefree smile. He didn't want there to be a scar and it would take quite some time for this to even stop swelling, let alone be healed enough to remove the ugly stitches.

Looking outside, Ezio frowned even further at the bright and sunny late December morning. Well, it was winter; he could use the excuse that it was chilly. He grabbed a cloak and pulled up the hood, not wishing anyone to see his damaged face as he ran about the city. It may be a "scratch for honor" as he'd told Cristina and Claudia, but it was over a petty jealousy of Vieri's that Ezio had goaded. Hardly a true matter of pride.

Ezio let out a sigh. His father had been right. Such behavior was unacceptable, if for no other reason than the damage done to himself.

He checked in with his father briefly, to show that he was more acceptable in clean clothes, before giving a lopsided grin to spare his stitches and taking off like an arrow out of the villa. He ducked around crowds, leapt over carts, and raced over boxes to avoid loiterers. He promised himself that he'd do this in his best time and he was striving for it, his muscles burning, the damp, chill air soaking him, as his half-cloak fluttered behind him. The hood made for an interesting challenge, as it did obstruct part of his view, but in a way he felt faster for it, as he reacted to the barest of perceptions as he raced through the streets. The smaller view area made him more inclined to leap over crates or use them as steps to overhanging beams that would bear lanterns at night, so as to better see the streets and squares he was racing through before dropping back down and continuing.

The morning air was exhilarating and he couldn't help but laugh as he ran through the streets.

Finally, in the distance, he saw the Medici compound, made famous by Lorenzo's grandfather, Cosimo de Medici, who had started their success in banking. Ezio slowed, not wishing to look out of breath and rushed. He may be keeping his own record of time, but his father wasn't. So Ezio straightened himself out, adjusted his half cloak, and lowered his hood long enough to run a hand through his hair and retie it. Feeling more presentable, he knocked politely at the servant entrance, where couriers like himself were usually accepted.

"Ah! Ezio! _Ben trovato_! How are you?" Lorezno's steward answered, smiling at see him. "Ah, up to no good I see. Somehow, I doubt you'll do banking for Master Lorenzo like your father does."

Ezio gave a shrug and chuckle. "What can I say? I doubt books and sitting around will ever be for me." He extended the sealed letter, still dry despite his race through the damp December air. "I have a letter for _Messer_ Lorenzo."

"I'll see that he receives it when he returns."

"Returns?"

The steward nodded, tapping the letter in his hand. "They've gone to Villa Careggi, I'm afraid; and not expected back for at least another day. They received word to go there last night."

"I'll let my father know."

"Many thanks, Ezio," the steward nodded. "And, could you deliver a letter for me?" the man said, blushing. "You do so much as a courier for your father, would it trouble you to help a lovesick soul?"

The young Florentine bit back a laugh both for his lips and for the pride of the steward who as well in his thirties yet blushing like a young girl.

"I'm always willing to help a romantic like myself," Ezio replied. After all, he knew how difficult it was to talk to the fairer sex. His first meeting with Cristina was proof of that.

"Just a moment," the steward said, a smile on his round face. "I'll be right back."

Ezio was led in and seated while the "lovesick soul" rushed to get (or write) the letter. While waiting, one of the women bustling too and fro from the kitchen took pity on his abused face and came with a salve that certainly eased the ache. Ezio had no problem flirting with her, though when she started to come on a little strong, he politely declined. After all, now that he was with Cristina, there was no need to really look anywhere else. Duccio was enough of a bastard and Ezio did not wish to do anything similar.

Speaking of, he still wanted to find the _cazzo_ and have a... _talk_... with him about Claudia.

The steward came back and smiled gratefully at Ezio.

"She works at a flower stall at the market near the Duoma. She is French, so she should be easy to find. Beautiful brown eyes, delicate jaw, long neck..."

Ezio laughed. "A French girl in Firenze? That _will_ be interesting."

The steward laughed as well. "Just don't follow your brother's footsteps and bed her. I'll be the one to do that."

"No worries there, my friend," Ezio stood, shaking out his half-cloak and raising his hood. "I prefer Florentines."

They said their goodbyes and, to Ezio's surprise, the steward gave him some florins as payment for both the delivery made and the one to be done.

Ezio made his way to the Santa Maria del Fiore, the great prize and pride of Firenze. The massive cathedral had been vacant and unfinished for over a century, a blight on Florence's elegant skyline as the dome had not been thought through and no one could actually build it. It wasn't till a brilliant Florentine architect named Brunelleschi took over that the Duoma was finally completed in 1436. Ezio could remember his grandmother always claiming that she'd birthed his father Giovanni in celebration. Next to the massive Basilica was Giotto's Campanile, a tower stretching up several stories but never quite rivaling the height of the Santa Maria del Fiore. Collectively, the two monuments were called the Duoma. It was a massive landmark in the city, and a frequent meeting place for many people.

As Ezio made his way through the stalls in the nearby market place, asking for the location of a French flower girl, he thought he glimpsed the purple and grey colors of the de Luca family, but when he looked again it was gone. Ezio frowned, wondering if Duccio de Luca was nearby, but he had a job to do first.

The crowds were thickening and Ezio didn't care for how long it would take to find this recipient. So he thought of an eagle, focused on finding a French flower girl, and started to look around as colors started to fade and the faintest hint of go_ld Geeze, he has Eagle Vision already co_uld be seen in the distance. Ah, there she was.

Ezio delivered the letter to the girl and practiced his pitiable French with her, talking of how the writer of the letter was quite enamored with her. She demurred and blushed, but seemed to show some interest. When she asked where he was, Ezio suppressed a grin and told her how to get to the Palazzo de Medici and ask for the steward.

Considering his job done and feeling good about uniting a couple, Ezio started to head back home, walking beside the massive Duoma. It was hitting midmorning now, and the streets were packed. Ezio eased through the crowds, taking his time. He was aiming to be home just in time for lunch, maybe spend some time with Petruccio with a game of chess. Then he'd spend the afternoon scouring the streets for the _bastardo_ Duccio.

He was looking to a shortcut through a less-crowded alley when a distinctly impolite female sigh caught his attention. Behind a pile of crates an amorous encounter was occurring. A woman was up against the wall of a building, one leg being held up and her skirts bunched up exposing her pale bare legs. Her corset was loosened, her ample bosom only barely covered by thin linen as the man supporting her was grunting and nuzzling her neck. The hand not holding up her leg reached up and pulled the linen down, exposing her breasts and then grasped, fondled, and pinched the already protruding nipples.

Ezio allowed himself a small laugh. This was Firenze, after all. While _most_ people had the common sense to do such activities behind closed doors, it wasn't that uncommon to spy a pair of lovers in an alley or secluded nook in the streets. Usually a man and woman, but occasionally a pair of men as well. Ezio shook his head. The Church may frown on such things, but people were people. Ezio doubted making such things prohibited by law would stop them from occurring.

The woman let out a muffled shout of orgasm and the man gave a satisfied grunt before pulling back. The woman was already covering her exposed breasts and adjusting her corset as the man pulled his member out, a long string of bodily fluids glistening from the tip to her entrance before her falling skirts broke it. He pulled out a handkerchief to clean himself and Ezio turned to move on.

"_Grazie_, Duccio," came the throaty moan of the woman, "for allowing a mere serving girl to see how nobles can care..."

Ezio froze.

"How could I hold myself from such a beauty," was the suave, oily reply.

Anger swelled in Ezio, but the packed streets didn't like that he had stayed still for so long and were starting to push him away.

"No!" Ezio growled, pushing back at the crowd. But he couldn't slip through, not while going the opposite direction of the river of people. He tried to be gentle, but he was pushed further and further from that semi-private nook. Ezio thought he saw the grays and purples of the de Luca ease into the flow of the crowds away from him and Ezio couldn't stop a low growl from his throat as the _bischero_ got away. But, if Ezio's eyes were right, the filthy dog was headed for the Duoma.

With a destination in mind, Ezio stopped fighting the crowds and let it work to his favor as he flowed forward, then back around to the Basillica, looking for all the hide-spots he had whenever he had met Cristina and wished to merely hold her in his arms. He scanned the crowds for the grays and purples of Duccio's family, circling around the church and holding back a smile of irony at a lecher using a _church_ to have an encounter. Really, even Ezio didn't dare do anything untoward while at a church. He may not like some of the Church's restrictions on behavior, but he at least respected that they tried to keep their grounds holy.

"Oh, Duccio. It's beautiful."

Ezio's sharp ears picked up the name and he turned to see an pleasingly plump woman admiring a ring in the morning light. Duccio was behind her, his arms wrapped around her and a wandering hand reaching under her corset.

"Nothing but the best for you, my love," he said with the same oily voice and false smile.

"But what of Claudia," the woman asked, fluttering her eyes at the purple philanderer. "I thought you had been promised to her?" Her eyes closed and she bit back a moan.

"Father said I could do _much_ better than an Auditore," Duccio assured her, as his other hand reached around her hip and started to push between her legs.

"Ah," she yelped, pulling away and straightening her corset, "naughty. Let us walk a bit."

" 'Walk'?" Duccio waggled his eyebrows. "I had something else in mind..." He reached forward to grab her breast again.

Ezio had seen enough. "Hey! Dirty pig!" he shouted with all his might. The people around them stopped, looking at what was causing the spectacle.

Duccio now had his hands to himself and was putting on an insincere smile. "Ezio! My friend!"

Ezio didn't let him get any farther. Instead, he introduced the _bastardo_'s jaw to his fist. "What the hell?" Duccio cried out as he stumbled.

"You insult my sister," he said clearly, "parading around with this whore." The woman gave an affronted shout.

"W-what are you talking about?"

"I saw the gift you gave her," the woman immediately covered the ring, but the whole crowd saw it, "heard the things you said. I doubt a harlot is better than the noble and honorable Auditore house. Or that servant girl in the alley?"

"Maybe your sister shouldn't be so stingy with her virtue," Duccio barked back contemptuously, rubbing his jaw.

"You broke her heart." And _no one_ broke Claudia's heart.

"Ha! And now I'm going to break your face!" Duccio shouted as he lunged forward. "You Auditore all talk big, but when it comes time for action? Hah!"

Clearly, this idiot didn't know a _thing_ about the Auditore. Ezio was incredibly pleased he had the opportunity to tutor him in just how the Auditore took action. Duccio's fist was well aimed, but his stance was poor and it was as easy as a breath to duck it and land three powerful punches to Duccio's exposed sternum before grabbing his head and driving his knee up into the jaw. The bastard never had a chance, as it should be.

"Stay away from my sister!"

The woman was long gone, and Duccio lay moaning on the ground, missing a few teeth and bleeding somewhere in his mouth. Ezio felt this was perfect and nodded to himself. With Duccio put back in his place, there was no need to do anything else. Still he couldn't quite avoid doing a final kick to the ribs before Ezio walked away with his head held high.

He made it back to the Auditore Villa just before noon. Frederico was in the now empty courtyard, looking over some papers and looked up.

"Keep up the good work," he offered with a teasing smile. "That delivery took all morning so it must have been so far away."

"_Bischero_!" Ezio cursed back flippantly as he made his way to his father's office. Frederico just chuckled.

As Ezio walked to his father's study, he could hear muffled voices from within. "... You worry too much, Giovanni. Francesco de' Pazzi is in prison. The threat is ended."

Vieri's father? Ezio knew that Giovanni had evidence that the Pazzi patriarch had committed murder and was charged with presenting it, but what threat was there that would make Ezio's father worry? Did it have to do with his late night disappearances?

Ezio shook his head and knocked.

"Ah, hello son," Giovanni's smile was warm, if slightly strained. "You remember my friend Uberto?"

"Good morning, _Gonfaloniere_ Alberti," Ezio bowed as befitting of such a rank.

"To you as well, young man," the man replied.

"I trust you delivered the message?" Giovanni asked.

"Yes, Father," Ezio replied, "but it seems Lorenzo is out of town."

"Hmm. I did not anticipate this..."

"What does it matter?" Uberto soothed. "So you wait another day or two."

Giovanni said nothing, his eyes distant as something turned over in his head. Finally, he turned to Ezio.

"Listen, your mother and sister have been looking for you. I'll need you again in a little while but for now, see if you can't help them." He gave a regretful smile. "I doubt I'll be able to join you for lunch."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, now; if you'll excuse us..." Giovanni turned back to his study.

"Good to see you, Ezio." Uberto nodded, following.

Ezio gave a polite bow to them, trying not to frown and pull at his stitches.

That... hadn't felt right. Something was worrying his father. Something with the Pazzi family. Ezio had a feeling that what he delivered to Lorenzo was likely a plea for help from their patron, but they were Auditore. Certainly their nobility protected them. And if not, Ezio knew that his father was deadly with a sword, as was Frederico and himself. His father had insisted on the training, saying any nobleman needed to know how to duel, and would spar with them if he had the time.

Could it have had to do with that trip to Rome? Ezio knew his father had come back injured, given how stiffly he'd moved afterward. Surely there was no connection, brigands were everywhere.

Ezio crossed his arms. He just didn't know enough. Normally he wouldn't care, he knew his father could handle anything. But his father was worried and Ezio didn't understand why.

"Ah, Ezio!"

He turned to see Claudia coming down the hall with a book.

Ezio smiled, despite the pull to his stitches. Here, at least, he could deliver some good news. "Hello, Claudia."

She came over and hugged him and he squeezed back. "I come bringing good news!"

"Oh? I could use some," she replied, her eyes still swollen from crying earlier.

He put an arm around her shoulder as they headed to the dining room. "You needn't worry about Duccio any more."

"Ah, he's a soprano now?" She gave a large, mean grin.

"Something like that," Ezio nodded, giving a more lopsided version of her mean grin. "You can consider your engagement annulled. He won't dare bother you any more."

"Would that I could have seen his face," Claudia growled, but she let out a sigh. "Really, he's not worthy of the time, but I still want to see him suffer."

Ezio thought of Duccio and the two women he had seen. "Just keep thinking of him as beneath you," he said sagely. "Because you are better than he could _ever_ be."

"This is true," Maria agreed, meeting them in the dining room.

"Mother," Ezio gave another lopsided grin for a brief moment. Claudia went to sit but he stayed. "Father says he'll be working through lunch."

Maria frowned, glancing back down the hall to the office, but nodded. "I'll have Annetta bring something to him later."

"He's worried,Mother. I've never seen him like this."

Maria smiled, putting a hand to his shoulder. "You like to hide it, but you are very observant my son, more so than even Frederico." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Let the adults worry about this. Life is full of worries, let us keep you carefree for just a little while longer."

Ezio frowned, but nodded, sitting at his seat. Frederico breezed in, a lazy smile on his face. Petruccio did not join them, but that wasn't uncommon. He would likely eat in his room and stay in bed so as not to strain his unhealthy condition.

"So," Frederic smiled, "I understand you gave that bastard Duccio something to think about?"

Ezio laughed. "News seems to fly faster than me it seems."

"I want details," Claudia insisted.

Lunch went by amicably, with all of them insulting Duccio and cheering up Claudia. Ezio tried to ask his mother and Frederico about what was worrying Giovanni, but Maria wouldn't say and his brother didn't seem to know. Maria skillfully slipped the conversation to gossip, everyone was talking about the death of the Duke of Milan, Galeazzo Sforza, a strong ally of the Medici, everyone was speculating the who's and the why's. Similarly, Vice-Chancellor Borgia was in Florence and no one was sure why. The Cardinal-Deacon had been Vice-Chancellor for the Pope for five years now and rumors were that he was gaining wealth and power quickly. The politics of the Papacy were discussed as rumors always flew from Rome but few were every actually true.

"Mother, you said you needed my help?" Ezio asked as he finished eating.

"Yes," she said. "I'll need those muscles of yours. It will be better for them than drunken brawling."

Ezio ducked his head at the chastisement.

"Ezio! Psst, Ezio!"

He paused, glancing to the small form of Petruccio just outside their gate. He looked back to Maria, but she simply nodded and headed off in a different direction, letting him go talk to his baby brother.

"What are you doing here, Petruccio?" Ezio admonished as he came over. "You should be in bed."

Petruccio smiled bashfully, putting some of his thick dark hair behind his ear. He looked up to the corner of a roof above them where some pigeons had a nest. "I want those feathers."

"What for?"

"It's a secret." Petruccio smiled, his eyes shining mischief. Ezio bit back a smile. Even Petruccio was an Auditore through and through.

"If I get them for you, will you go back inside?" he asked softly.

"Yes. I promise."

Ezio smiled and ruffled his brother's hair, escorting him inside to Annetta who took Petruccio's hand and led him back upstairs.

Ezio looked up to the pigeon nest and his eyes started looking for handholds that Frederico had taught him about the previous evening. He climbed slowly, still not always certain of what to grab, and he took the opportunity to truly study what he was climbing, where he didn't before. He got a feel for what was loose and what would likely hold him, though he wouldn't be confident of it until he'd done it several more times.

He reached the nest and looked through the loose feathers. There was one of pure white, a wing-feather, stuck in the twigs and straw just outside the nest that was likely the one that had caught Petruccio's eye. Ezio plucked it, spinning it around. It was a beautiful feather. He gently cleaned off some of the dirt and gently put it in a pouch. Looking back through the nest, he didn't see anything quite so beautiful. Most of the feathers were the small downy kind that adorned the body of a pigeon. And, frankly, if Petruccio wanted pigeon feathers, Ezio need only go to any of the pigeon coupes in town to go looking for a better find.

Still.

Up on the rooftops, Ezio looked around, leaping across narrow alleys and using scaffolding to cross wide streets. He did find more pigeon feathers that were interesting, with soft greens or that shone purple under the sun. But somehow, if Petruccio was collecting feathers, he wasn't sure that this is what was needed.

Looking up to the afternoon sky, Ezio noted that it was starting to get cloudy. Shrugging, he figured he had enough feathers when an eagle caught his eye, majestically diving from a tall belltower.

That might be a nest!

Ezio ran across the rooftops, stumbling on the tiles twice as he was unused to the footing, before once again climbing, up till he reached the eagle's nest. And there, right at the edge of the twigs and sticks and hay, was a wing-feather of solid, beautiful brown with just a hint of white at the tip. It was much larger than the pigeon feathers he'd been gathering and was sure to be the crown of whatever Petruccio was planning.

Satisfied, Ezio climbed back down to the streets and jogged home.

Petruccio was waiting back in bed.

"Here. As promised," Ezio said, laying each feather out on the bed to show off their beauty.

"_Grazie_, brother!"

"You still haven't told me why you want these."

Petruccio admired each feather before putting it in a box with gold ornaments. "I will. In time." His eyes still shined with mischief and Ezio laughed, ruffling his brother's hair again. "Now go on! Mother's been waiting for you all day!"

"_Si, si_," Ezio said, ruffling more hair. "Now you are to take it easy for the rest of the day."

Petruccio pouted, but nodded.

Ezio headed back outside, passing Annetta who was knocking at his father's study with a tray, asking if he'd eat _anything_.

Outside, he found his mother tending to the roses climbing the wall. Turning, she smiled. "_Buon giorno_, Ezio! I'm glad you could finally spare some time for your mother's errands."

"_Buon giorno _to you, Mother," Ezio greeted, rubbing the back of his head at another chastisement. "How are you?" he asked, hoping to deflect a lecture.

"I'm well," she replied. "And you?" she arched an eyebrow elegantly. "Still recovering from last night?"

Ezio immediately thought of Cristina and blushed. Caught, he scowled and shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Of course not."

He squirmed. Nobody could make Ezio squirm like his mother.

"Now if we may finally get to my errand? I've been waiting for you to join me."

"With pleasure."

They headed out into the crowded streets, going north.

"I know about your fight with Vieri," Maria confirmed what Ezio dreaded. He still delayed.

"What fight?"

"Please. Let's not play this game," his mother replied more firmly. "You think you could hide your face?"

Ezio scowled again. "He spoke ill of us," he defended. "I could not allow him to continue."

Maria sighed. "I'm sure he's having a hard time dealing with the accusations against his father. You're challenging him makes it easy to release frustrations in brawling." She cast a disappointed eye to him, making Ezio wince again. "Francesco de' Pazzi is many things - and none of them good," she continued. "But I never suspected he'd be capable of murder."

They walked further along and Ezio thought of Giovanni and the worry he had been showing. "What will happen to him?" he asked quietly.

"I imagine there will be a trial," she replied.

"Will Father speak at it?" Was that why Giovanni was so worried?

"He'll have to," Maria replied gently. "He's the one with the evidence."

Giovanni had the evidence? Was he worried that it would disappear? Ezio shook his head. He still didn't know enough.

"Still, I wish there was another way."

Maria stopped, turned to him, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You have nothing to fear," she said gently. "Everyone wants justice done. It is an unfortunate state of affairs, but it will pass." Reaching up, she cupped his face and softly ran a hand over his stitches. "Assuming you don't start a war between our families."

Ezio laughed. His mother's lectures were always so much worse than his father's.

They made small talk for the rest of the trip until they reached a studio with a small, attached courtyard.

"Here we are," Maria smiled. She entered the open vestibule and knocked on the ornately carved door.

The door opened and a blond young man, only a few years older than Frederico stepped forward. His red cap was askew and there were flecks of paint in his thin blond beard.

"Hello, Leonardo."

The artist clapped his hands together. "_Madonna_ Maria!" he said enthusiastically, leaning forward and kissing each cheek.

Maria smiled warmly. "This is my son, Ezio."

The blond turned, his smile widening. "It is an honor," he said with a flourishing bow.

"The honor is mine_,_" Ezio said with a more polite half-bow.

Leonardo turned back to Maria. "Let me go and fetch the paintings. I'll be right back." He dashed back into his shop.

Maria turned to her son. "He's very talented. I'm glad that Lorenzo introduced us."

Ezio shrugged. "I imagine he must be. You only ever go for the best."

Maria raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "Self expression is vital to understanding and enjoying life. You should find an outlet."

Ezio kept looking away. "I have plenty of outlets," he groused.

"I meant besides _vaginas_," she replied archly.

"_Mother_!"

"You'll be marrying Cristina soon," she replied. "You can't go using her _outlet_ every second of the day. Even if you don't care for your father's work, you must find a way to use your talents and occupy your time." She tilted her head back and arched her brow again. "So that you don't end up in drunken fights."

Truly, _no one_ could make him squirm like this but a lecture from his mother.

Leonardo breezed out with a box of small paintings, smiling affably. "Back to your house, then?" he asked, completely missing the embarrassment Ezio had just received.

"_Si, si_," Maria agreed. "Only Ezio will be carrying that. Ezio, help Leonardo, would you?"

"Of course," he replied sourly, picking up the box.

The blond painter walked beside Ezio, his eyes alive with interest. "So, Ezio, what do you do?"

"He's been working for his father," Maria replied, looping her arm with Leonardo's.

"Ah, so you're to be a banker?" Leonardo asked with a bright smile.

"For now," Ezio grumbled. "And you? Art, was it?"

Leonardo's smile widened and he nodded, "Truth be told, it's been difficult for me to settle. Painting is nice, the math of it and all, but I often feel it lacks... I don't know... purpose. Does that make sense?"

Ezio turned his head and nodded. In a way, that did. Art just hung on walls. It didn't _do_ anything. And Ezio always preferred to be up and about _doing_ something.

Leonardo beamed at him and continued. "I'd rather contribute more practically. More directly. Architecture, perhaps. Or anatomy. I'm not content to merely capture the world. I want to change it."

"I know what you mean," Ezio replied, thinking of his father and Giovanni's worries. "I wish I could change things as well."

"Oh Leonardo," Maria sighed fondly. "I have no doubt you'll go on to do great things!"

At last, the blond artist turned from Ezio. "My thanks, milady. That's very kind of you."

They continued to talk on the way back, and Ezio found he was curious about the techniques he saw in the paintings he was carrying. Leonardo happily explained his methods of a brush and mixing paints to make just the right color, a new approach he was creating that he called _sfumato_, but how he hadn't perfected it yet. The concept of proportions and how all people had different measures but the same proportions. The eyes were the halfway mark for a human face and the nose and hairline were a quarter marks. Ezio asked more questions, interested in the way paints were mixed and carefully rationed by apprentices like Leonardo.

Beside Leonardo, Maria simply smiled. Ezio had finally found an outlet that wasn't between a woman's legs.

It was mid-afternoon when they finally arrived at the villa, and Ezio gave the crate of paintings to the staff. "Thank you for your help, son," Maria smiled. "Don't let me keep you from your other duties."

"It's been fun chatting with you, Ezio," Leonardo also smiled, shaking the young Florentine's hand. "We really must do this again sometime."

"Agreed," Ezio replied. "But without the crate."

"It was nice to meet you. I hope our paths cross again."

Ezio nodded and Leonardo made his goodbyes with Maria before hurrying back to his workshop. He knew that his father had needed him to check in later, but he'd likely have deliveries to make for that, so Ezio decided to check in with his family. Petruccio was in his room, admiring the box of feathers and gently cleaning each one in a small bowl of water.

He joined his little brother, teasing and poking for what the feathers might be for. All Petruccio would say with his mischievous eyes, was that he had something in mind for their mother. Frederico joined them, clearly slacking from his work. Eventually, Frederico challenged Petruccio to a game of chess, since Frederico considered it his duty to teach all his siblings the game.

Claudia was in the library, still reading. She looked better than she had that morning and Ezio dawdled with her, teasing her, asking why she was reading books on banking, and helping to keep her mind off of Duccio.

"Ezio." The two looked up to see Maria standing seriously by the shelf.

"Yes, mother?"

"Your father has been waiting for you."

"Of course."

Maria opened her mouth, as if to say something, but thought better of it, instead taking Ezio's place by Claudia.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Gawd, the timing, the TIMING! All the game tells you is "December, 1476." But then there's Lineage, where Giovanni tries to prevent the death of the Duke of Milan: That's _December 26_, and yet he has time to travel to Venice and then Rome, come back home, and then Ezio has his "perfect" day, "execution" day, and "assassination" day, and runs off to Monteriggioni. All before 1477. That is not, not, NOT a lot of wiggle room. Pardon us while we bang our head and keep everything nice and vague...

**The Italian:** Okay. Here's the thing: The way it works in the game is as follows: you listen to the cut scenes and listen to Ezio's sexy baritone or Leonardo's charming tenor or whatever slip into Italian, and for a moment you're utterly confused until you glance down at the subtitles and (if you're fast enough) you catch a glimpse of what the Italian means. You probably don't get all of it but you catch enough to get the gist of it.

Mimicking that in text is much harder, because you _don't_ have Ezio's sexy baritone or Leonardo's charming tenor to inflect and nuance and give you an idea of tone. The Italian is just a collection of letters arranged in a way that doesn't make sense to a non-speaker and the sexiness or charm is lost. As a result, reading all that Italian is, frankly, a pain, and reading _subtitles_ is just distracting. As a result, our philosophy is thus:

We cut away a lot of the Italian and kept it to three basic rules: "pleasant" conversation, swearing, and _Requiescat in pace_. The reason for this is to strip all the foreign language to words and phrases you can infer or contextualize the meaning to. You many not immediately know what _bene_ means, but if you went to public high school and took French or Spanish, you might remember _bien,_ or _bueno_, and can infer the meaning. You many not know what _fottiti_ means, but reading that it's a vulgar curse lets you know the gist of the sentence and so, like in the game, you get the _gist_ of the conversation.

And _Requiescat in pace_, well, er, does that really need translation...?

Also note that this fic is rated M, not only for the potty-mouths running around, but because of Ezio's "amorous adventures." Both of us are such prudes that we're convinced we going to hell for writing the thing that are in here, but we hope nothing is _too_ graphic, and that it's accurate both to Ezio's character, the time period, and the reputation Florence had at the time.

Thanks go to Tenshi, our beta who dropped off the radar for a while because of family loss - our thoughts are with her - but she's back. Also thanks to JediKnightMarina55 for giving us lots of little Italian culture tidbits and factoids that we abused terribly throughout the fic.


	3. Fall from Grace

**Part Three: Fall from Grace**

Ezio entered Giovanni's office and found his father sitting at his desk, writing a letter of some kind. He waited a moment, but his father did not look up or even acknowledge that he came in. Indeed, his face seemed oblivious to everything but the intent concentration and worry that was going into wording the letter.

A moment more and the young Florentine cleared his throat.

"Ezio. Come in, son," Giovanni rubbed the bridge of his nose before looking up again. "I need these packages delivered to associates of mine in the city. I also need you to retrieve a message for me from a pigeon coup not too far from here."

"_Va bene._ I'll get it done."

Giovanni nodded. "Quick as you can, Ezio."

"Shouldn't it be Federico, then?" he asked. "He is faster than me." And was getting faster by the day it seemed.

"No," Giovanni smiled, "you are still faster than your brother. Plus, I have another task for him, once he gets around to coming in here."

Ezio gave a shrug. "My brother seems to be indulging his lazy side at the moment. He's with Petruccio."

"I shall go collect him then." Giovanni sat back with a deep sigh and Ezio felt as if his father had aged in the hours since he'd seen him last. Something was wrong, but he didn't know enough to even know what questions to ask. "Come back here when you're finished. There are some things we need to discuss," Giovanni said with a touch of firmness. Then he smiled. "And please, my son, stay out of trouble, hm?"

Ezio gave a small chuckle. "I can make no guarantees," he offered lightly. "It's not like I go looking for trouble."

Giovanni barked out a laugh. "Be on your way, son. The places you must deliver those letters are listed on the envelopes."

"Of course. I'll be back before you know it."

"Faster, if you can," his father said quietly, heading to the stairs that would go up to their bedrooms and find Federico.

Ezio stepped out to the courtyard, the mid-afternoon sun still shining brightly in the chilly air. Ezio straightened out his half-cloak and tightened his boots, stomping them briefly on the Auditore crest inlaid in their courtyard. With a deep breath, he took off out the gate and headed due south. He kept his hood up as he raced through the crowded streets, and wondered what was worrying his father so.

Giovanni was a banker, and a good one. Just five years ago, their patron Lorenzo had rewarded the Auditore by buying the _palazzo_ they now resided in due to how good a banker Giovanni was. And while people would always hold some distaste for bankers and their control of money, Giovanni was known for being fair. He was also a skilled lawyer, often helping the _Gonfaloniere_. Ezio could think of no one who could harm their family, not with Lorenzo de' Medici as their patron. To cross the Auditore was to cross the Medici, and none were so foolish.

But Lorenzo wasn't in town.

But Ezio still wasn't sure what was worrying his father so. The business with the Pazzi was what first came to mind. As Maria had said, Giovanni was the one who had the evidence and would need to present it to the trial. And while Ezio didn't care for politics or court, he _did_ know that people could disappear before giving evidence, leading to a case being thrown out. But as Ezio already knew, _no one_ would cross the Medici.

Ezio shook his head, entering a small courtyard and taking a moment to catch his breath. He shouldn't worry so. His father was careful and meticulous. He could handle anything. This problem, whatever it was, merely needed more thought.

"You Giovanni's kid?" came a rough voice from the shadows. Ezio turned, surprised to see two less-than working-class people. One a man in patched rags with a scarf around his throat and another wrapped low over his head, almost to his brow. The other was a courtesan, her corset so low that her bosom was practically falling out, her hair tied up so as not to get in the way of business.

"No, idiot. He just happens to look _exactly_ like the man," the whore said in a deep, sarcastic voice.

...Were _these_ the recipients? His father was a banker! This thief and courtesan wouldn't have money to bank!

"Give it here," the man grunted, thrusting out a hand. Ezio hesitated, his mind awhirl on just _what_ sort of trouble his father was facing that he was turning to the bottom of society for help. He handed the package over wearily and slowly. "Don't worry, boy. We're not contagious. Least _I'm_ not," the thief said in a low chuckle.

The harlot elbowed him hard. "Our girls are all _clean_!"

The two walked away, bickering between them like they hadn't just turned Ezio's worries upside-down.

Ezio stared after them, still getting his breath back, before he composed himself. The sooner he did these errands, the sooner he'd get back to Giovanni and start asking for an explanation. Ezio may not know enough to ask the right questions, but not asking anything was just leaving him as uninformed as before and that was going to have to stop.

With one measured breath, Ezio took off again, flying through the streets and over crates, dipping through alleys and crossing squares.

It must be a fluke. Those two must be secret couriers or something. There was no way his father would work with such disreputable people. Not unless they were intermediaries to someone who valued privacy and didn't wish to be known as connected to the Auditore or the Medici. That had to be it.

... Right?

Ezio paused again, slowing down enough to catch his breath and look around. He was supposed to meet someone here, a few streets away from the Palazzo della Signoria, but where... Everyone was moving around with their own errands, specifically shopping as mid-afternoon was transitioning to late afternoon and early evening. No one was looking around for someone, merely bustled about.

A pebble knocked Ezio on his shoulder and he turned sharply, but found no one. Still panting, he merely stopped, slowly circulating. As he made a full circle, another pebble dropped to his feet and Ezio looked up. For a half-second, he saw a shadow and knew he'd found his recipient.

On a roof.

Ezio backtracked to find a ladder so he wouldn't feel so stupid climbing the side of a building with scores of people wondering if he was still sane. Not finding one quickly, he ducked into an alley and looked at the plastered walls, finding the cracks and crossbeams that would support him as he climbed up the shadowed wall. He glanced around and no one seemed to be looking down the alley, so he quickly ascended to the roofs.

The tiles were still new to his feet, and Ezio walked slowly, keeping an eye on the streets to keep his bearing as he made his way back to where pebbles had tried to get his attention. The roof he arrived at was flat and almost completely surrounded by other roofs; making an isolated nook that was almost completely hidden from the street, but it allowed for complete view of the bustling people below.

A man in leather armor was skulking in a corner, his eyes wandering around continuously, roving the streets and scanning the rooflines as the shadows of the sinking sun kept lengthening. In his hand were pebbles that he was tossing from one hand to another.

The mercenary kept a hand near his blade, as he turned to Ezio.

"I have a delivery from-" the young Florentine didn't even get to finish his sentence.

"-Giovanni Auditore?"

"Yes."

The mercenary nodded, scanning the street and roofs again. "Were you followed?"

"No," Ezio replied, the question ringing as odd to his ears. "Why would I be followed?"

"Give me the package." Ezio hesitated, questions welling up one after the other before the man put a hand to his blade. Ezio handed it over and opened his mouth to ask one of the litany of queries, only to be cut off. "Tell your father that they're moving tonight. He should as well."

"Who's moving?" Ezio asked, hating his ignorance more and more as the afternoon went on. "What's going on here?" But the burly man was over onto the roofs and then ducking down a ladder "Wait! Come back! Explain yourself!"

Moving? That sounded like something was happening. Something big. Ezio turned to the Villa Auditore, intent on delivering the mercenary's message as it seemed important, but paused.

Giovanni had wanted _all_ those errands concluded, including visiting the pigeon coup north from here.

Desire to check in with his father warred strongly with the responsibility of finishing what Giovanni had told him to do. Ezio, though he often still played around as evidenced by his drunken brawl with Vieri the previous night, still took his responsibilities seriously. He had great respect and love for his father, so if Giovanni asked him to do something, he did it. Ezio may get sidetracked and have fun while doing the errands, but he still _did_ them, unlike Frederico who had a lazy streak.

But after how Ezio's day had been going, he was getting _worried_. Something had been wearing on Giovanni and keeping him locked in his study, Ezio had been asked to send an urgent message to Lorenzo, but he wasn't there. Now his father was sending messages through courtesans and thieves and might be hiring mercenaries, if that last person was any indication. Mercenaries for protection? Ezio wasn't sure. And _why_? What was going on? Surely it had to do with the Pazzi, but _what_? No one would dare cross the Medici, not in _Florence_, and it was known that the Auditore had had close ties with Lorenzo for _years_.

If Ezio wanted answers, he'd need to see his father.

Looking up to the sun, he decided he'd get to the pigeon coup and head back. No pauses, no waiting, he was going to _fly_. And the longer he spent in indecision, the longer he'd wait for those answers he needed.

So Ezio headed to the ladder the mercenary had used and, once in the alley, straightened his hood and half-cloak again. This wouldn't be a matter of timing himself. This was a matter on seeing what danger seemed to be approaching his family. So Ezio took a deep breath to steady his panting, and took off.

Despite the cool air that was getting more and more chilly, Ezio was starting to sweat. All this running around for several hours was keeping him warm, and the cloak and hood kept him warmer. He dashed over carts, cut between stalls, and tripped through crowds, the desire to see his father and get answers pushing him further and further as he reached another alley with a ladder heading up to the rooftops. Ezio's legs were starting to burn from the hours of exertion and his breath was heaving as he bounced up the ladder and headed to the pigeon coup.

The sun was lower on the horizon, evening truly starting to settle over the city. The lamplighters were all out, giving the streets a soft lantern glow as people continued to bustle for last-minute errands before heading home. Ezio sat in front of the coup for a moment, willing to settle his heartbeat and control his breathing. He stayed like that for a moment, then stood and reached in for the pigeons. Several had notes, each bearing different seals, but he found the bird he wanted quickly. It was Bianco, a pure white pigeon that Giovanni often liked to use for important messages. Ezio pulled off the small strip of paper and slid it into his vest.

Still breathing more heavily than he would like, Ezio pulled back his hood and wiped his brow in the chill air.

Glancing west, he figured he'd make it back home before the sun finished setting if he ran at top speed the whole way. The streets were starting to empty, making it easier to get through, and faster. So Ezio took a deep breath and headed back to the streets. He took off again, ducking through crowds. He used every short cut he knew of, every alley, every courtyard, anything to shave off more time so that he could see his father and find out what was going on. To have Giovanni explain that Ezio's imagination was putting things that weren't there before him, and it was really just a simple matter.

But really, he should never have put down his hood.

He was pausing by a fountain to get a quick drink before taking off again, when his head was abruptly pushed into the water and held there, a heavy hand crushing his shoulder to hold him.

Well Ezio would have none of that and given the lopsided hold, easily turned, using the momentum to dig an elbow into the side of whomever was _stupid_ enough to try and fight him when he was in a _hurry_. He came up sputtering, a gloved hand wiping the streaming water off his face. He ignored the stinging of his stitches as he glared at the three who had circled him around the fountain. The fourth was coughing beside Ezio, but staggering to his feet.

Ezio recognized them. They were all supporters of the Pazzi family.

Deep inside, Ezio's worry increased manifold. But on his exterior, he merely flicked his wet hair back and put his hands to his hips, leaning to one side. "Is this all the Pazzi can throw at me?" he said, looking down his nose.

"Get him!" the supporter Ezio had already elbowed growled, a hand holding his side.

Ezio did _not_ have time for this. He ducked under the first punch, grabbing the arm and twisted it behind the man's back before shoving him into the fountain. The cold would sap his strength, especially soaked as he was. It would make him sluggish, so that left Ezio with two fresh fighters with the one he'd already elbowed.

The other two came at him, one with a broom, and Ezio focused on him first. He grabbed the broom as it came down to him and easily grappled with it. The two fought over who would keep the weapon, pushing and pulling, Ezio trying to twist it away and the Pazzi supporter trying to trip him. So focused was he that the second fresh fighter landed a solid, two-fisted hit on Ezio's shoulder, pitching the young Florentine forward. Quickly using this to his advantage, he shoved the other brute forward, making them both land on the ground. Ezio quickly pulled the broom and rolled back to standing. In one sweeping motion, he brought the broom up to second brute's chin, sending him flying backwards with a tooth flying free of his mouth. Ezio panted then turned and brought the handle of the broom down on the delicates of the man he'd previously toppled, who let out a soprano scream.

Ezio dropped the broom and took off running again, worry over his family first and foremost. He kept heading west towards the sun, which was now barely visible over the roofs of the city.

His lungs were burning, his head was freezing, and his legs felt like counterweights. He'd been running since mid-afternoon, yet Ezio dared not stop or slow down. He had only one purpose, and that was speaking to his father. He had to deliver the letter from the pigeons, give the mercenary's warning, and then get _answers_.

Arriving at the _palazzo_, Ezio took a moment in the courtyard to catch his breath, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. But _only_ a moment. He straightened, evened out his breathing, and headed in.

It was so silent. And dark.

The _palazzo_ was hardly the size of Lorenzo's or of other nobility. But there was always someone bustling about. By now he should be hearing his family sitting for supper, laughter or conversation, servants bustling in the kitchens, the occasional messenger. Candles would be lit since the afternoon as the sun continued to set.

But there was none. There was only darkness.

"Father? Federico?"

_Anyone_? Where was his family? Why was it so quiet?

He charged up the stairs. "Mother? Claudia? Petruccio?" He was checking their rooms, and when he got to Annetta's rooms, he was soundly thunked on the head. Ezio grunted, stumbling forward.

"_Ser_ Ezio!" Annetta cried out. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"What happened?" he demanded, rubbing the back of his head. "Where is everyone?"

"They took your father and brothers to the Palazzo della Signoria - to prison!" she sobbed.

_No..._

"And my mother? My sister?"

Annetta glanced to the library down the hall and he raced toward it, calling their names.

"Ezio..." Claudia poked her head out from behind some shelves.

"Claudia!" Ezio let out a sigh of constrained relief. She raced to him and he swept her into a tight hug, holding her close, remembering how he'd just done this earlier because Duccio had cheated on her. Oh, that was so long ago. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she said with tight control that was clearly wavering. "But Mother..."

Ezio let go long enough to walk around the shelf to where Maria sat, staring at nothing. Occasionally her head twitched, but otherwise she just looked ahead vacantly.

"She's in shock," Annetta said quietly. "They... When she resisted..." She gave a quiet sob. Claudia sniffed. And Maria just looked on.

Ezio's family was in pieces. His father and brothers jailed, his mother traumatized, and Claudia trying so hard to hold it all together.

What had happened? Should Ezio have skipped the pigeon coup all together and come straight home? Would it have made a difference? What were they supposed to do now?

Ezio sucked in a breath. He was the only man of the house for the moment. And suddenly responsibility was heavy around his shoulders. He'd dallied in indecision about coming home or getting the damn message from the pigeons. He could no longer wait.

"It's not safe here," he said quietly. He looked to Annetta. "Is there some place you can take them?"

"Yes. Yes! To my sister's."

"Good. Do that. In the meantime, I'll go see my father."

Slowly, he knelt down before his mother, and then hugged her close, reassuring himself of the fact that she was still alive.

His heart broke when she didn't respond with a hug of her own.

"Ezio," Claudia sniffed, diving into the hug as well. "Please, be _careful_."

"_Si_, be careful _Messer_ Ezio," Annetta agreed. "The guards were looking for you as well."

Ezio nodded. "Pack up some clothes. Anything important. Annetta, can you get them there safely?"

"Of course," their maid nodded. "We'll take alleys, stick to shadows, keep an eye out."

"Wear hoods," Ezio suggested. "Cover your faces."

"I can't believe this is happening," Claudia mumbled.

The young Florentine agreed, but did not voice it. Instead, he retied his hair, tighter so that it would not loosen, and squeezed some of the remaining dampness of the fountain out of his sleeves and shoulders. Once he was ready, he helped Annetta pack a bag with a few dresses for Maria, who simply sat in the chair they settled her in.

Ezio's very heart _ached_. But he just packed things, grabbed some food from the kitchen, looked over things. Then, just because he couldn't _stand_ seeing his mother like that, he went to Petruccio's room and grabbed the gold-guilded box of feathers. He walked right to his mother and put the box in her hands.

"Mother, Petruccio was collecting feathers this morning," he said softly. "Well, I was collecting them for him. He wanted to give them to you." He reached up and cupped her face. "I know I'm not supposed to tell you this, but I'm sure Petruccio will explain his plans to you soon."

Maria gave no response.

Ezio squeezed his eyes to hold back the tears, and stood.

"Claudia, you have everything?"

"Yes, my brother," she replied quietly.

"Annetta, look after them."

"Like my own family, _Ser_ Ezio."

He looked over them and nodded. Claudia ran forward and hugged him again, and Ezio couldn't deny her. Or himself.

Looking out at the square in front of their _palazzo_, he made sure there were no guards or Pazzi supporters, before nodding. Annetta guided Maria and Claudia kept a sharp eye out.

It hurt to let them out of his sight, but Ezio trusted Annetta. And he needed to hurry off before he listened to his heart and followed them.

He ran through the emptying streets, his time helping Maria and Claudia having been enough of a breather that he felt fresh again as he was once more ducking through alleys, leaping carts and lamp poles as he headed east.

The Palazzo della Signoria was the seat of power for the Republic of Florence. It was where all the major meetings and decisions of the city were held by the Signoria. The _Priori_, the nine council members each had offices, befitting the six major guilds, two minor guilds, and of course, Uberto Alberti, the _Gonfaloniere_ of Justice and the _Collegi_ councils. The Palazzo itself was around a hundred years old and, like the Duoma, a major landmark of the city. Lorenzo de Medici often visited the various councils, particularly since the councils were elected new members every two months.

Ezio hid in the shadows of a narrow alley behind some crates, catching his breath yet again, as his eyes automatically went to the tower where there were small jail cells. That was where the rest of his family would be. It was full night now, the lights of the candles casting dark shadows up the _palazzo_. Thankfully, the moon was still out.

He considered sneaking in through the _palazzo_ proper, especially since it was night and most people would be home. But that also meant that the guards would be keeping a sharp eye out for anyone not a guard.

Ezio looked around again. No, sneaking inside wouldn't be a good idea. Besides, there was no way in. The doors would be barred by now. Slowly, he eased around the _palazzo_, trying to see if someone had left a window open or _something_, but given the cold December air, he knew he was grasping.

With a sigh, Ezio looked up the outer walls, looking for some way _up_ at least. Federico's lessons on climbing from the previous night and his brief experiences with it over the course of the day making his eyes catch where his handholds would be. The main problem was once at the top, he could see guards against the moonlight.

On the east side of the _palazzo_, away from the _piazza_, Ezio looked up and saw open construction. Likely from renovation, but it provided cover and was away from the well-lit square.

Thankfully, there was a ladder up to the construction, and Ezio climbed up swiftly, his breath under control once more. His legs still ached from the running over the course of the day, but hopefully this would mostly be work for his arms.

Once up the ladder, Ezio eased to the barely constructed windows, poking his head up and assessing where the guards were. There was only one at this level, at the south and looking out to the Arno River. With silent feet learned from years of trying (and failing) to sneak up on his father, Ezio crept across the open roof to the scaffolding and started to climb. Atop the wooden structure, he quietly stepped to another ladder and ascended to the top of the _palazzo_. The tower was before him and from what Ezio could see there were two guards circling the edge of the roof.

Ezio waited, biding his time, then dashed across. He checked around the tower, but there was no scaffolding or ladder to take him further. So with a quick running leap, he leapt up the door and grabbed the sill of the window above. The guards heard his scurry and came over to investigate, but Ezio was already above the window, grabbing sills and stone cracks, his fingertips already shaking with the exertion of hanging by them as he eased his way around the corner of the tower. A strong wind blew and Ezio hung on for dear life. He never knew these heights had such winds. Would that he could feel them on a hot July day...

The moon hid behind a cloud and Ezio was left with the daunting task of trying to climb blind. The firelight from the piazza didn't reach this high and without the moon's gentle glow, he had to go even _slower_, making his arms ache for each new handhold. His hands finally reached a protrusion above his head, the base of the spire that held the two jail cells. One of those cells would hold the Pazzi patriarch. Ezio could only hope the other held his family.

Reaching up and essentially behind him to find a new handhold in the dark was terrifying, and his arms were slowly giving way, particularly when his legs were suddenly dangling over nothing as he worked his way up blindly. He was breathing hard, almost gasping for breath. His whole body was burning at the endurance needed to keep going after such along day of exertion and his heart was pounding as sweat kept gathering at his brow.

His hand finally reached a cold iron bar. With a near-silent grunt, he hauled himself up, letting his feet stand on a stone sill and he looped his arms through the bars. The approximation of standing eased some of the muscles in his abdomen and back as he gasped for breath.

"Ezio."

The moon finally peaked out from behind the clouds and Ezio worked to keep his voice a whisper. "Father! What's happened?"

Giovanni grasped his son's hand and smiled in the moonlight, showing an ugly bruise blossoming along his jaw and brow. Ezio gaped, then reached out to cup his father's face as he had his mother mere hours before.

"Took a bit of a beating," Giovanni whispered, "But I'm alright. What of your mother and sister?"

"Safe, now," Ezio reassured him. _Unlike you..._

"Annetta took them?"

"Yes... Wait," things strung together quickly in Ezio's mind. "You knew this would happen?" That was why he was sending Ezio and Federico out hiring mercenaries, as far as Ezio could tell. His father _knew_ something bad was coming. But _why_ didn't he tell them?

"Not the way it did..." Giovanni's head bowed looking almost defeated, "and not so soon. It doesn't matter now."

The hell it didn't! "What do you mean? Explain! Where are Federico and Petruccio? Are they alright?"

"There's no time!" Giovanni hissed. "Your brothers are asleep for now, leave it at that. Now listen closely: Return to the house. In my office is a hidden door. Use your talent to find it. Beyond it lays a chest. Take _everything_ you find inside. Much of it may seem strange to you, but all of it is important. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Ezio nodded. "But what about you?"

"Good," his father replied, ignoring the question. "Among the contents is a letter - and with it some documents. I need you to take these documents to _Messer_ Uberto. He was with me in the office this morning."

"The _Gonfaloniere_. I remember," he said. "Now please - tell me what's happening. Are the Pazzi behind this? There was a note for you at the pigeon coup. It sai-"

There was a ringing _bang_ below, likely a door heading up to the cells.

"Go Ezio. Go now!" Giovanni hissed.

"_Father_!" Ezio reached for his father, desperate for something, anything, he didn't know what, but Giovanni looked pained before he swiftly loosened Ezio's remaining hand's grip.

The young Florentine scrambled, his shirt tearing and his worn gloves slipping almost off his hands before he fell backward, the wind racing around him before he landed in a haystack below that he hadn't even paid attention to before.

"_Father_..." Ezio stayed in the haystack, tears rushing down his face as he struggled to hold back sobs at the _finality_ of that conversation. It felt like a torch had been passed, but Ezio had no idea what responsibility had been placed on his shoulders beyond looking after his mother and sister. And hopefully saving his father and brothers.

It took longer than he liked to compose himself. Much longer, but once he was back to himself, Ezio strained his ears for the guards patrolling around him. Once they were passed, he stepped out of the hay and backtracked the way he had come, dashing across the roof and heading down the ladder and the scaffolding on silent feet.

The guard below was half asleep, to Ezio's benefit as he slipped right by him and then over the side to the ladder that lead down to the street. He adjusted his cloak again and straightened his hood to hide rubbing more tears from his eyes. His father had given him a job to do. And with any sort of luck, it would free his family. Ezio clung to that belief, that whatever he found in his father's study would exonerate them all and then things could go back to _normal_. Lorenzo would return, reinforce his protection of them, and Giovanni would somehow know how to bring Maria back from wherever her soul was hidden.

Exhausted but refusing to stop, Ezio raced back through the streets and alleys to the Palazzo Auditore. A cold breeze blew through the streets, making the night feel almost frigid. Ezio's torn and dirty clothes were still damp from his dunking in the fountain and sweat leaving him feeling even colder. But that coldness didn't even compare with the icy hole in his heart. His family was split, in danger no matter what, and all he could do was keep being a damn _courier_. Ezio felt like he should be doing something _more_, but he didn't know what.

But he trusted his father.

This _had_ to work.

It just _had_ to.

He was panting yet again when he arrived at the _palazzo_, but he didn't even break stride as he burst through the door and headed for Giovanni's study.

The study looked as it always did, though clearly there were signs of struggle with an overturned chair and strewn papers about the floor.

Gasping for breath, Ezio looked around, trying to see what was amiss beyond the obvious. Giovanni had said to use his talent, so Ezio reached for the eagle in his mind and looked again. Colors faded from his vision, desaturating down to an almost blue world around him. He looked again, concentrating between pants and burning muscles on a hidden door and where it could be. A faint trace of gold outlined the back wall of the fireplace and Ezio approached it. He could barely see the glow, but it was enough for him to start feeling around the mantle for some sort of switch and... ah.

The back wall rose, and Ezio brought his candle with him into a room he'd never seen before. There were no windows, no doors; indeed it seemed completely enclosed if it hadn't been for the trick wall of the fireplace. Candles were already lit and gently burning, making the hidden room seem the most welcome of the _palazzo_. There were shelves overflowing with books and scrolls. A straw mannequin held some white-hooded outfit that Ezio was grateful to see. No doubt the Pazzi supporters he'd taken down earlier had already spread word of what he was wearing. Plus, he was once again torn and bloodied and a fresh set of clothes would help keep him from being hunted.

The hidden door shut behind him and Ezio set about changing. The long coattails in back would take some getting used to. He was unaccustomed to having fabric trailing so loosely behind him, but as long as he didn't trip over it, it wouldn't matter. The sword was good quality, but common. And given the insanity that had occurred, Ezio thought it best to keep it by his side. At this point he wouldn't take any chances. He was all his family had left to save them, so he needed to be able to defend himself. There was an odd bracer with a broken blade that Ezio strapped to his wrist, putting the blade in one of his now plentiful pouches, along with the florins he had on him and some salves he found in a desk (some of which, he applied to his stitches).

The clothes... fit. Ezio knew he was of similar size and build to his father, but these clothes... They really fit. All he'd wanted was a fresh set of clothes so he wouldn't be recognized, but there was something about these white robes and white hood that had... weight to them.

Ezio ignored such fanciful feelings and laid them at the feet of exhaustion and went to the chest. Inside were more florins, which he pocketed, and the letter that Giovanni had mentioned.

Good. He need only bring this to _Messer_ Uberto and his family would be free.

Fatigue was still pulling at him, but Ezio pushed it all aside and quickly found the switch to take him out of the hidden room. The back wall of the fireplace shut behind him and Ezio took another breath. He needed to race to the _Gonfaloniere_ in order to get these papers to him before the Signoria opened in the morning.

Ezio left out to the courtyard and was surprised to see a pair of the city guard starting to come in from the ajar gates.

"Traitor!" one of them shouted, drawing his sword.

Ezio blinked.

"Hey!" he retorted, every inch the noble. "What's with the swords? Aren't you supposed to arrest me?"

"No," the other guard spat.

"What do you want, then?"

"For you to die."

Ezio frowned. "Well, that's not going to happen. So why don't we explore other options?"

"There are no other options."

To Ezio's shock, they attacked him. This was the Republic of _Firenze_! Guards didn't just _attack_ people! They needed a reason! Ezio admitted, some of his drunken fighting often proved to be a good reason to be arrested, though his father always bailed him out, but he truly hadn't _done_ anything yet. So why? What was going on? Why label him a traitor?

Questions swirled in his head as Ezio ducked under a sword, rolled under the other guard, and then raced out the gates. His knowledge of the district, particularly around his own home was to his benefit as he used crates, alleys, and crossbeams to evade the two guards that chased after him. Racing along, his eyes spied a set of crossbeams that lead to a balcony and then to an iron lattice covered with hibernating vines that would bloom in spring. That led up to the roof. That was all Ezio needed. He was more accustomed to running and leaping over beams, so it was easy to make his way up to the lattice work and then climb up from there without expending the energy he would if he climbed up the sheer face of the building. Once on the roofs he was once again racing along the tiles, though slower than he would on the street, more cautious of his footing. The guards below still shouted at him, but they were further and further behind.

Ezio paused again to catch his breath and get his bearings. It would look strange from up here instead of street level, but he knew Florence like the back of his hand. He started to head southwest, taking more cautious steps and not liking just _how many_ guards he was seeing down below. Would they all attack him on sight? At this point he didn't want to take the chance. His life was shattered and spread across the city; he didn't want to lose anything else.

He stuck to the roofs until he got closer to the _Gonfaloniere_'s residence. From there he started looking for ladders to make his way down. There were none close by and he was three streets away when he finally found one down to a closed courtyard and he descended. He'd have to stick to the shadows of the streets now. He didn't want to draw attention to himself.

Dressed in so much white, he felt exposed in the shadows, but none seemed to look his way as he stayed away from any light, no matter the source.

Ezio looked around as he exited an alley. Uberto's home was at the end of the street but there was no way to approach from the shadows. He saw no guards, so he'd just have to make a run for it with his burning, stiffening muscles.

The night was starting to pale by the time he reached the _Gonfaloniere's_ residence; he had been running since the previous afternoon and was more than panting by the time he knocked on the door. His hands were shaking slightly in the cool air, though his body was covered in sweat. The young Florentine had been up for over thirty-six hours; he hadn't eaten in over sixteen, and had run for a bout as long. Incessant, he banged on the door again, heedless of the time. None of it mattered, his body, his health, none of it was as important as delivering the letter and documents from that hidden room to Uberto Alberti. The _Gonfaloniere_ of Justice would be able to fix this, the man would free Ezio's father and brothers, and everyone could go back to the villa and everything would be okay again. The _Gonfaloniere_ could do it. He had to.

He _had_ to.

Growling, Ezio banged on the door again, kicking it with his boot. He would wake the entire _street_ if he had to.

He was about to bang on the infernal door again when he heard voices beyond the door and steps, the turning of a latch. Panting, he stepped back and yanked down his hood, looking this way and that to see if any of the night guards were about to see him.

"... Ezio Auditore? What are you here doing at this hour?"

Uberto was in his nightgown, white linen and lace covered with a robe doing little to hide his girth as he opened the door more fully, a candle in his fist to get a better look at the bedraggled and exhausted noble.

His only hope had opened the door in person.

Ezio was overcome with emotion.

"It..." he started, trying to get the words out. "I don't..."

"Wait, child," Uberto said, stepping back from the door and letting the young man in with a gesture. Ezio did so gratefully; glad to be away from the eyes of the city guards. Uberto closed the door behind him. "Take a breath," the judge said slowly, gently. "Collect your thoughts."

Ezio did so, leaning against the closed door and closing his eyes, fighting his breath and his burning muscles and his desperate anxiety. It all came out in one great huff. "My father and brothers have been imprisoned! I don't know why, but they attacked them at the villa, my mother has been traumatized, she won't speak! I saw my father at the Palazzo and he wouldn't answer my questions, I don't understand why all of this is happening; none of it makes any sense. I know at least that this happened because Lorenzo de' Medici isn't here, but this is _Firenze!_ No one would dare do this to one of his supporters, but maybe they would and I wouldn't know it because nobody is explaining anything and I have to get my father and brothers out of prison. They don't belong there! They've done nothing wrong! I'm so worried; Petruccio has a weak constitution I don't know what this is going to do to him and _they beat my father_ God knows what Federico has gone through and Mother hasn't spoken a word it's like she's not even there and you _have to help them!_"

Uberto held up a hand. "Easy child. Easy, that was too fast for me to understand, save that you've had a trying experience. Try again: slowly."

"There's no time!" Ezio said, suddenly afraid that the judge wouldn't be able to help. "I was told to bring you this, please, help my family!" He all but shoved the parchment into the _Gonfaloniere's_ hands, still struggling for breath but full of nervous energy. He shifted from one foot to another, unable to keep still.

Uberto put down the candle and held the letter to it's light, his brow furrowing as he read through the note. The heavy-set man read through everything, nodding here and there, with an air of nonchalance that drove Ezio to madness.

"Will it help?" he demanded, impatient. "Can you save them?"

"Ah," Uberto said after going through another page. "I see now." He looked up to the young noble. "It's a misunderstanding, Ezio. I'll clear everything up."

"How?" Ezio asked, afraid that this was a dream.

"The documents you've given me contain evidence of a conspiracy: against your father and against the city. I'll present these papers at their hearing in the morning and they'll be released."

They were safe.

... They were _safe_.

Anxiety left Ezio in a great rush, filled with exhausted relief and Ezio rubbed his sweat-stained face, his legs giving way slightly as he thumped against the door again.

"Thank you, _Signore_," he said in a great sigh. A giggle bubbled up from his taxed lungs, and he looked up to the _Gonfaloniere_ with misty eyes. "Thank you. _Thank you._"

"Of course, my child," Uberto said, placing a soothing hand on the young Florentine's shoulder. His eyes studied Ezio's lackluster appearance before adding, "Do you need a place to stay? You are more than welcome here."

"No, _grazie_," Ezio said, pulling himself upright. His family may have been saved but he was not, the city guards were still looking for him and it would be wrong to draw ill onto the honorable judge after this enormous favor. He could hide for a few more hours. "I'll meet you at the _piazza_."

He turned, opening the door and stepping out.

"Don't worry, Ezio," Uberto said at the door. "Everything is going to be fine."

He flashed a winning smile as the door closed before taking off down the streets.

It would be years later before he remembered the man in black, dressed almost like a cardinal, watching the harried meeting from beyond the foyer.

Ezio made his way tiredly through the San Giovanni district, weary of guards but finding blessedly few of them as the shifts were changing. He entered the grand _piazza_ that expanded in front of the Palazzo della Signoria and found a bench, pulling his hood up and sitting down, he wrapped his cloak about him and leaned back. It would be a few hours still before the Palazzo would open, and though Ezio wanted to climb the clock tower again to tell his father the good news, he simply didn't have the energy to do it. He looked up to the tower, to the two tiny cells where his father and brothers were.

"You'll be free in just a little bit," he whispered, smiling. He imagined the looks on their faces, their smiles; he imagined his mother and his sister, and he could only smile.

In that bliss he fell asleep in the chill air.

* * *

When he woke the dull grey of dawn had disappeared.

In point of fact it was midmorning.

"_Cazzo_," he cursed, lurching to his feet. Every muscle in his body protested, still wanting rest from his previous exertion, but he rolled his shoulders and his hips and his ankles, stretching out his muscles and limbering his limbs. He was going to meet his freed family; he didn't want to limp about like some beggar. Ezio pulled out his hair as he began walking to the crowd in the piazza, running his fingers through it to straighten it out before retying it; then he tugged at his doublet and his cloak, fixing himself up to look good.

He saw figures at the stage, the crowd was cheering uproariously, happy for a hanging before New Years. Ezio was never fond of watching someone's neck be stretched and he-

His eyes doubled in size when a child was tugged up onto the stage and a rope looped about him. That was Petruccio! And Frederico!

Ezio stared in wide-eyed horror, suddenly stock-still as the crowd churned and swayed all around him. His father was dragged up to the stage last, his swollen jaw visible even at this distance. All three of them were... but _how_! He had delivered the documents! Uberto said everything would be fine! Uberto said he would _fix_ this!

Ezio began to push his way through the throng of people, uncertain if what he was seeing was real. Petruccio, he looked so weak, his head hung down against his chest, dark hair preventing Ezio from seeing his face. Frederico, he stood to his full height, blood smearing a temple but looking straight ahead and more serious then Ezio had ever seen him; gone was the lazy smile. And Giovanni-

"Giovanni Auditore! You and your accomplices stand accused of the crime of treason." Ezio's eyes snapped to another figure on the gallows: Uberto Alberti. A figure in black stood behind him, but all Ezio could see was the judge who had told him only hours ago that everything would be fine. What was _happening_? "Have you any evidence to counter these charges?" the judge asked theatrically.

"Yes!" Giovanni growled. "The documents that were delivered to _you_ last night!"

Yes, the documents! What happened to the documents!

The _Gonfaloniere_ of Justice shrugged, looking out to the crowd. "I'm afraid I know nothing of these 'documents.' "

_What?_

"He's lying!" Ezio shouted, pointing. "I delivered them in person! Why is he _lying_?"

A few people turned to him, curious, but no one at the gallows seemed to hear him. Frustrated, confused, Ezio pushed his way further, trying to get in shouting distance, trying to get closer, trying to stop this from happening because this _just wasn't happening..._

"In the absence of any compelling evidence to the contrary," the heavy-set judge was saying, "I am bound to pronounce you _guilty_." The crowd roared in pleasure, shouting to get the formalities over with. Ezio would never understand the people surrounding him, and his frustration made him shove one man brutally to the ground in his attempt to advance. The man called after him but Ezio paid no heed, determined to get to the gallows before it was too late. Uberto made a grandiose turn from the people to Ezio's family, leveling an accusatory finger at them. In a booming theatrical voice, he pronounced: "You and your collaborators are hereby sentenced to _death_."

The crowd cheered.

"No! I gave you the documents! Just wait until I get there! Stop. _Stop!_"

On the stage, Petruccio gave a small whimper heard by none, but Ezio knew it happened because Federico's serious face broke and he turned to his little brother - as both of them had done for the boy's entire life - and moved as if to touch his hair. Giovanni, too, perhaps heard, because he erupted in rage.

"_You_ are a traitor, Uberto!" he shouted, eyes bulging, "And one of THEM! You may take our lives this day, but _we will _have yours in return! I swear! We will-"

The hangman pulled the lever, and Ezio watched in horror as his family fell from the gallows.

"_FATHER!_"

Petruccio's neck snapped instantaneously, a merciful death save that Ezio could see the unnatural angle of the break as his thirteen-year-old brother began to sway. Federico's legs pumped furiously in the air, struggling for purchase and swinging back and forth. The crowd was shrieking in satisfaction as they watched the spectacle, Federico's easy-going and smooth face slowly turning pink, and then blue as he ran out of air, froth gurgling out of his mouth at every attempt made to breath. Giovanni, too, was struggling for air, but instead of the panicked twitching of Federico, Giovanni was swinging his legs back and forth in unison, building momentum before one leg reached out and a boot touched the platform; it caused the crowd to suddenly gasp as they realized one of their acts of entertainment might, in point of fact, survive - at least until the hangman took a mace and bludgeoned the man, blood and brain matter flying everywhere. Giovanni swung back out over the hole, and Federico's movements had stopped.

They... They...

They were dead.

Ezio shook his head in denial.

They were dead.

_They were dead_.

_They were-_

"There!" The _Gonfaloniere_ was pointing into the crowd, pointing to Ezio. "Grab the boy! He is one of them!"

Their eyes locked, and Ezio at last realized the truth. "You killed them," he whispered, unaware of the tears staining his cheeks. "You killed them."

A pair of guards grabbed at Ezio, one on each arm, and the motion broke whatever had frozen Ezio in place.

"_You killed them!_" he shouted at the top of his lungs, the mass of cheering bodies suddenly pulling away from him. "_Figlio d'un cane! I'll kill you for what you've done!_"

Impotent rage was no longer impotent, while three innocent bodies swung on the gallows Ezio gave an agonized cry of anger as he ripped one arm free and then another, shoving one of the guards who had claimed him to the ground and kicking him in the head before carelessly drawing his sword, swinging it in a wide, callous arc to _get everyone away from him_. His moves were not that of a trained nobleman, but of an angry child consumed with grief. Three bodies swung in his mind's eyes, the vision was burned into his heart and he would never forget it for the rest of his life. Never. _Never_.

It was all Uberto's fault; he _had_ the documents, but had not used them, perhaps even destroyed them. Why? For what? The story of the conspiracy, was it just to placate Ezio into a false sense of security? The cruelty of it...! And worse, the young Florentine had fallen for it, had believed the hand on the shoulder and the soft smile, had believed the Judge to be honorable! That man would pay, that man would suffer, that man...!

"Guards! Arrest him! Put him down!"

_HE WOULD KILL HIM FOR WHAT HE'D DONE!_

Ezio swung blindly at the first guard that tried to approach him, growling in rage and marching towards the gallows. The crowds had backed up quite a bit now, but Ezio was consumed with his anger and saw nothing of it, nothing of the guards. All he saw was that one fat man and _he was going to DIE._

Until the pommel of a sword crashed into the back of his skull and Ezio lurched forward, stumbling to keep his footing and blinking rapidly. He looked up to see a man in full armor, almost a head taller than Ezio and bearing an axe at least as heavy as the young nobleman. Flanking the brute were two city guards, swords drawn, and behind Ezio were two more. Five on one, and one so very, very big, and Ezio suddenly realized just how difficult it would be to kill Uberto.

Fear trickled into him, his anger gone like a tendril of smoke.

"... Better run boy."

Ezio's eyes darted to the side, between the guards to the thinning crowd. The courtesan from before was there, as was the thief. "And fast," the man added.

The massive armored brute swung his axe down in a vicious strike, faster than Ezio ever could have guessed. He had risen his sword to counter but it was batted away like a child's toy, and that in that one moment Ezio realized - _I don't want to die_ - and he turned and barreled through the two city guards behind him, running full tilt to the far end of the plaza.

He circled around the fountain at a dead run before sprinting down to a narrow alleyway, tripping over a stockpile of bricks before picking himself up, splashing through a puddle and exiting to a row of houses. Ezio ducked around a merchant stand, dashing up and over some crates and up a lattice frame filled with vines, uncertain where he was going but only thinking of _away_. He could hear the guards' cries dimly from behind, and that made him leap without thought from the lattice to a flowerpot hook and onto a balcony. He ran across it and up to a roof, sliding on the stone tiles, spying a flat roof that held some kind of sky garden, and he dove into it, momentum cracking his head on the far side of it and slumping into a ball, panting.

It felt like he stayed there for an eternity. He had long since stopped hearing the faint calls of the guards; all he could hear was his father's voice. "_You are the traitor Umberto, and one of THEM! You may take our lives this day but we will have yours in return!_" All he could see was Frederico swinging back and forth, his face distorting as he slowly strangled. All he could comprehend was Petruccio's neck snapping as soon as the rope was taught.

He moaned, running his hands through his face and his hair, sobbing.

He couldn't... he couldn't just _leave_ them like that, swinging in his mind. Ezio wanted to erase it in some way, make it turn out differently. Numb, he climbed out of the garden to see it was raining - he hadn't even noticed. The chill precipitation barely affected him, and he climbed down to the ground automatically, his mind not really there.

"Ezio!"

The voice rung as familiar, dim in the back of his mind, but when he turned he found the pained eyes of a brunette as she darted towards him. "Ezio! My God, you're still alive!"

And Cristina Vespucci quickly pulled Ezio into a tight embrace, the drizzle the only sound between them. The brunette was a surprise, but Ezio looked around slowly, dimly coming to realize he was near her house. He'd raced halfway across the San Giovanni district in his flight. "I just heard," she said, her voice thick with tears. "I didn't believe it... I came to see for myself... But you're alive! Thank God! Where are the others, your father and Federico?"

And Ezio's eyes watered, and he pressed his face even deeper into her shoulder.

"Oh, _Ezio,_" and he wasn't the only one crying. "Tell me," she begged, desperate to ease his pain in any way, "what can I do?"

The young Florentine didn't even know where to start. He pulled away slightly, taking her hands in his and pressing his forehead to hers. She tugged one delicate hand gently free and cupped his face, looking at his misery with eyes unflinching.

"My family's bodies..." He started to say, but his voice cracked, reliving their fall, the sights, the sounds, the _feelings_. His face crumpled in on itself, and Cristina balanced on her toes to kiss him, tenderly. "I can't just leave them hanging from the gallows..." Federico still gurgling for air, Petruccio swinging limp, his father playing one last gambit, it replayed over and over in his mind. "I need to..." But words completely failed him, and he could only look at her, helpless.

Cristina nodded, understanding. Without a word she took Ezio's arm and lead the broken boy back the way he had come, to the plaza in front of the Palazzo. They walked slowly and without words, Ezio too lost in his grief and Cristina a strong, silent support.

The site of the _piazza_ in the drizzle made Ezio weary, his eyes cast out over the noon crowd, confused that they went about their business as if nothing had happened. Why were they still moving? Why was anything still normal?

Then he realized: the gallows were empty.

"They've already been cut down!"

Cristina gasped, following his gaze. "What are we going to do?"

"I... I don't know," Ezio said, feeling weak in his knees. Would the bodies swing in his mind's eye forever? He couldn't live with that, he couldn't... he couldn't...

"Excuse me, _messere._" Ezio turned, dazed, to see Cristina talking to one of the city guards. Fright filled his mind, he didn't want to die like his father and brothers had and there were so many guards. He looked around to see them everywhere - did Florence always have this many guards? Had they seen him? Were they going to chase him again, or worse?

He had already taken a few steps back, ready to bolt from the plaza, when Cristina touched his arm. Ezio jumped, a strangled cry in his throat, and she startled, too, before quickly breathing reassurances. "It's me, Ezio, it's me; calm down, no one is going to hurt you."

"Cristina..." Ezio said, but he shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"No, I understand, Ezio," the brunette replied. "I know where the bodies are. They..." Her eyes watered. "They're going to dump them into the Arno."

"What? No... _no..._" This was a dream. This was a dream and nothing more. He let his lover lead him through the chilly drizzle and tried to convince himself that none of this had happened. But it had, _it had_, and it was all that bastard Uberto's fault. Anger started to fill him again, and when they reached one of the ports and saw the small patrol of guards, Ezio was boiling.

The two hid around the corner of a house, the alley stretching out to the river. The guards paced it back and forth, joking as if everything were normal, as if anything would be normal ever again. How dare they!

"What will we do?" Cristina whispered into his ear.

"Only one thing to do..." Ezio answered, "_kill them_."

"_No_, don't do that!" she said in a frightened whisper. "They did nothing wrong."

Ezio shook his head. "They follow orders unquestioningly. That makes them-"

"_Ezio!_"

Her frightened face had lost almost all color, and just like that the anger wafted away like smoke, and Ezio realized just what he was saying. He moaned, running a hand over his face. He was soaked.

"_Va bene_," he said weakly, "I'll sneak behind their backs. I'll get my family one at a time if I have to, and carry them down to the river."

"Be careful," Cristina said, the brunette still eyeing him. "I'll go up river and get a gondola and meet you at the pier."

"All right."

Before she left, however, Cristina planted a tearful kiss on Ezio, reminding him of... of what life used to be like.

The midday shadows were dark because of the rain, and Ezio used his half cloak to hide most of his white and grey, sneaking up behind the guards and then ducking behind a crate when they turned. The... bodies... were strewn callously by a hay cart, spread out like refuse, and Ezio burned brightly with anger before it seeped out of him. The noble house of Auditore, supporters of Lorenzo de' Medici, proud sons of Florence... reduced to this.

Struggling to breath, Ezio wrapped his arms gently around Petruccio. He was so tiny in his arms, so thin and light. His head swung back and forth loosely from the broken neck, and Ezio couldn't stand to watch and instead propped it against his shoulder. Petruccio... he... he was asleep, Ezio told himself. He'd been up looking for feathers again, and now Ezio had to carry him to bed to... to rest. Ezio took a shaky breath and lifted the child up and darted down the steps to the pier. Innocent of anything and everything, confined to bed because of his health, and still labeled a collaborator, still accused of treason, still put to death like a _dog_.

Holding back a sob, he saw Cristina slipping down the river in a gondola, pulling up next to one of the small docks, and Ezio gently laid his brother down in it, touching the dark locks and kissing his forehead. His lover let out a chocked sob.

Back up the steps he went, peeking out and watching the guards walk by before darting to the hay cart. Federico's doublet was open, as was the linen shirt underneath, and Ezio could see the marks of the rope around his brother's neck. Always three years older and three years wiser, Federico had taught Ezio how to fight, more recently how to climb. Lazy, laid-back, easy-going, he would never dream to hurt anyone. No, his time was spent looking out for others, looking out for all his siblings - Ezio, Claudia, and Petruccio, spent pleasing women and loving the smiles he would receive. He was a helper, and still none of that mattered to the judge, his personality completely ignored in favor of the "conspiracy."

Ezio carried his brother down to the pier, laying him down on the gondola before buttoning up the shirt and doublet, hiding the marks on his neck. Federico... he was sleeping in again, too lazy to get up.

Next was his father. The guards hadn't even noticed the disappearance of the bodies - yet - but Ezio hurried to the hay cart nevertheless.

His face was a mess. Hair splayed out everywhere, sticky with blood and brain-matter, the horrendous fluid splashed over his face as well. His jaw was still bruised, as was his brow, and Giovanni's face was twisted in such anger. It was everything Ezio could do to pick up the man, heavy as the young Florentine himself, and he half carried, half dragged his father down the steps. Cristina gasped at the sight of him, and was shaking almost violently as she pushed the gondola away from the pier and guided it down the river.

Ezio pulled out a handkerchief, cleaning off his father's face. He realized belatedly that the man's eyes were still open, twisted in rage. They were not his father's eyes at all, and Ezio closed them slowly. Giovanni was the best of men, the epitome of a nobleman. He was proud of his work and of his family, he held his sons in a firm hand but always let them know he loved them; he loved banking so much he would attend it at all hours of the night, excited about news from Constantinople and what it meant for inflation and finance or darting off to Venice or Rome to talk to a particular branch with an idea. He was smart, wise, unerringly patient even when Ezio didn't deserve it, he was... he was...

He was dead...

Ezio almost broke, and he shook his head violently, turning helplessly to Cristina as she guided them to safety. The brunette had never seen bodies before, her face was still deathly white, but when she looked at him there was strength, determination to do what needed to be done. For him.

He made a decision.

"Cristina, I want you to come with me."

"Come? Where?"

"I can't stay here," Ezio said, holding his father's hand. "The city guards are still looking for me. I have to go into hiding. I want you to come with me."

She stared at him, wide-eyed, a hundred emotions flitting over her face. She... she could help him through this. She could make this _bearable_. She had to come with him.

"I want to..." she whispered slowly, stopping work on the gondola and carefully kneeling down to his level. "But I can't." Tears streamed down her face. "My family..."

But Ezio didn't want to hear more, so he held up a hand. "I understand," he said in a broken voice, and he looked down to his father, his brothers, tending to them.

It was quiet for a long time.

They reached a different pier, further down the river, some time later; Ezio couldn't guess how long. The drizzle had grown to a steadier rain. The two looked at each other, so many emotions weighing on them both it was a miracle they were still standing.

"Ezio..." Cristina breathed, seeking to say something, anything to take away the hurt she had added to his already impossibly long list.

Ezio held up a hand, reaching under his doublet and pulling out a necklace. The Auditore crest hung on it, and he loosely placed it around her neck. "So we'll always be together, Cristina." He hoped she would understand.

She tilted herself up to her toes and kissed him, soft and lingering, before she pulled back and nodded.

The two got to work.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Tear-jerker.

Not much to say about this chapter a as a whole, the beginning of the series really writes itself, and you won't hear much in the way of us whining and complaining until later. You'll also note that we'll be trying to incorporate the Cristina memories from Brotherhood; since we're digging through Ezio's memories chronologically, it makes sense that they would be here and not in ACB. It also gives us less to worry about for the next novelization, but that's neither here nor there. Also note we're trying to build up Lorenzo de' Medici. He doesn't get much screen time in the game, but we both agree he's an important figure in Ezio's life - for more than his relationship with his father Giovanni. More on him in later chapters.

Also, last chapter had a typo: it's Federico, not Frederico. Sorry, everyone!

Thanks as always to Tenshi for beta-ing, and JediKnight55 for her Italian tidbits.

Next chapter: The fallout.


	4. Death of a Judge

**Part Four: Death of a Judge**

It was late afternoon when Ezio at last dragged himself through the streets of the San Giovanni district again. His mind and body were numb, from the rain and from the pain. He moved listlessly, not entirely certain where he was going. It took a long time for him to recognize the villa. He had come home.

Only... this wasn't home anymore. It never would be again. Not like before. Not with...

"_Ser_ Ezio. Thank God! I've been looking everywhere for you."

Dimly, Ezio turned to see the house servant, Annetta. The numbness faded, and Ezio wept once more. "I... I couldn't stop them, Annetta." He choked on his tears. "I tried, I swear. But there were so many guards..." And he had run, run like a _coward_...

Annetta offered a sympathetic smile before touching his arm. "Please, come with me," she said. "We need to get you off the streets."

"What of my mother and sister?"

"They're safe. I'll bring you to them."

And Ezio let himself be lead north, around the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore and the Giotto's Campanile and their crowds, down some dim alleys on occasion but mostly through the streets. Ezio's hood was still up, and he frankly could care less about the guards. He had just dug three graves... Everything was in pieces, there was nothing left after this. No one to comfort him...

A door knocking stirred him from his thoughts, and he watched the small Annetta talk quickly with someone before leading him into a house.

Inside were... were...

"I think we have the wrong building..." he said softly, grief temporarily suspended as he looked at all the courtesans, with their low bodices, high slit skirts, stylized hair, make up, and so, _so_ much flesh. One man was kissing a girl hard on the mouth, another kissing a man completely naked for everyone to see - and was that girl actually sucking on that man's delicates...? They had entered a _brothel!_ What were his mother and sister doing _here_?

"No," Annetta said, shaking her head. "No, this is it."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, _Messer_ Ezio." The young Florentine's gaze snapped up to an elegant staircase, a woman - obviously in charge - striding down it, flanked by two whores, one male and one female. "Annetta speaks quite highly of you," she said, her gaze taking in every inch of him. He suddenly felt naked, and wasn't sure how much more of this day he could take. "I can see why."

"I appreciate the kind words," he said slowly, trying to remember his manners and wondering if they were still necessary in a place like this... "_Madonna..._?"

"Please, call me Paola." She wore a respectable frock, save for the indecently low neckline, and a thin, gauzy veil covered her thick knot of dark brown hair. Her eyebrows were arched, but naturally, and her eyes held a mysterious allure.

"... Thank you for offering your... 'home'... to my family, Paola."

"It was the least I could do," she said, smiling softly. "You've had a long day. You must be tired." She lifted a delicate wrist, fully sleeved unlike the other girls, and guided him up the stairs to a private room. No one was there, for the moment, and Ezio just sat at the window, mind awhirl trying to catch up with all the shocks he had suffered.

Invariably, his mind drifted back to the gallows, his brothers and father swinging like sacks of wheat. He remembered their faces as he buried them - every cut, every bruise, every mark of the rope around their necks. He remembered his father's look of outrage, even in death, and Ezio pressed his face to the glass, his eyes burning.

Some time later, the door opened, and Ezio turned to see two women enter.

"_Madre?_" His mother ghosted into the room before sitting down with him at the window, staring out it and speaking not a word. Claudia was not so quiet.

"Ezio!" she cried out, a giddy smile on her face. "Where have you been? They wouldn't let us leave, and Mother... She hasn't spoken a word since we left the house. Father will need to sort things out, though..." She paused, her gaze scanning the room. "Where is Father? He's back with you, yes? And Frederico? And Petruccio?"

Ezio's heart broke all over again.

"Something's... happened," he started, standing.

"What do you mean?" she asked, turning to look at her brother. Ezio couldn't find the words, his mouth opening and closing, helpless to figure out how to break the news. But he didn't need to, his silence told her everything, and her eyes widened in shock. "... No. It's impossible!"

"Claudia..."

"No. No, no, no, no!"

"I did everything I could, _piccina_." He stepped forward, hugging her tightly, uncertain what else he could do. Claudia still shook her head, but the denial faded almost immediately to sobs, heedless of his wet and muddy clothes. She knew in an instant what had happened, and together they wept, rocking each other back and forth, riding the storm of emotions together. Their mother mutely looked out the window, tears streaking down her face.

They fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

The next morning dawned and Ezio rose with the sun. He had been changed out of his wet clothes, and they were apparently cleaned as he saw them lying out to be used. The idea of being stripped while he was asleep by one of the... girls of the house left him slightly flushed, and he dressed in a hurry, once more donning his father's doublet and hood. It was after that he realized that his mother and sister had been in his bed with him, the two women still sleeping under the sheets.

The dawn's light just barely touched Claudia's face and Ezio realized, perhaps for the first time, the gravity of what had happened.

He... Ezio was the man of the house. He was responsible for the welfare of his sister and his mother. He had to get them to safety, to hiding, to somewhere that wasn't Florence.

And it was up to him to avenge his father.

There was simply no one else.

The thin smoke of anger from the day before did not even _begin_ to express the anger he felt now, as he realized just how much fell on his shoulders. It wasn't an anger blinded by grief, but rather it was an anger that burned with purpose, with passion, with determination. His family's honor was at stake; this was not some squabble with Vieri de' Pazzi, this was the wrongful death of his father and brothers, the trauma of his mother and sister. There would be hell to pay. There was only one thing to do.

Kill Alberto Uberti.

Claudia stirred as the light slowly brightened and turned over, humming in her sleep, and Ezio pulled the blankets up higher against the chill air. She was so young... Ezio would have to doubly look out for her. He looked to his mother, utterly still even in sleep. He didn't even know where to start with her...

He left the room.

Paola was in the hall, as if waiting for him, watching as he quietly closed the door behind him.

"Good morning," she said softly, kindly. "Not many patrons stay for breakfast, but perhaps you'd lik-"

"No, _grazie_," Ezio said, lifting a hand to forestall argument. "I can't stay."

"Why? Where are you going?"

His eyes were ice cold. "To kill Uberto Alberti."

Paola gazed at him under her arched eyebrows, face closed off and mysterious, almost calculating.

"I understand your desire for vengeance," she said, and Ezio already predicted the conversation. He strode past her and down the hall, down the stairs while she followed, still talking. "But the _Gonfaloniere_ is a powerful man. You're not a killer, Ezio..."

"Spare me the lecture," he said in a dark voice, waving a hand.

"... But I can _make_ you one."

_That_ made him stop halfway down the stairs, turning to look up at this strange woman. His first reaction was disbelief.

"And why are you going to teach me how to kill?"

"I'm not," she said simply. "I'm going to teach you how to _survive_. Come." She gestured that he follow her and breezed past him, down the stairs and out of the brothel and into a small, back courtyard. With a look she dismissed the customers and soon the shaded area filled with courtesans. "Discretion is paramount in my profession," she explained. "We must walk the streets freely: seen but unseen. You, too, must learn to blend like us, and be one with the city's crowds. My girls will show you how."

Ezio looked at the girls, at the skin, and took a tentative step back. "I blend in just fine..." he started.

"No," she said, her voice oddly flat. "You do not. Girls?"

"Noble clothes, noble man," one said, siddling up to him.

"Noble posture, looking down his nose," said another, caressing his arm.

"Wide eyes, innocent face, healing scar," said a third, touching his chest.

"A strut and a swagger, such fascinating hips..."

"Heavy footsteps, booming voice, all eyes naturally look to him..."

"Such a strong jaw and thick neck..."

"Fine hair..."

"Honey brown eyes..."

Ezio was surrounded by breasts and hands and soft breath, bright eyes and alluring smiles. This was nothing like with Cristina or when he practiced flirting with his brother's instruction; he wasn't in control of what was happening to him, and he felt distinctly uncomfortable. Two sharp claps of the hands however, and the girls departed to the far ends of the courtyard, lingering around the flowered trellises.

"Do you see now?" Paola asked, an eyebrow arched in discrimination.

"Am I really that memorable?" Ezio asked, swallowing and trying to get his body back under control.

"As a noble in a sea of nobles, you are you _are_ every inch the noble, self-righteous and domineering without even trying. Normal people will naturally notice you, but forget about it later. Your lips will become a distinctive feature, however, and that _makes_ you memorable. You must take pains to not be noticed in the first place."

"And you can teach me that?"

"Of course. Notice that you haven't even spared one glace at my girls in the last few moments. They have made themselves invisible."

Ezio blinked, realizing his discomfort had gone with the prostitutes, and yet they were still around the trellis. Looking over at them, several lifted their heads and made eye contact, some winking, and Ezio realized what had happened.

Paola seemed to sense this, and she nodded. "Come with me," she said, and led him out of the courtyard into the streets. "Posture is everything," she said, and Ezio watched as she seemed to transform from the leader of a brothel to a mere servant girl, to a sickly mother - all without ever changing her appearance. For the next three hours she instructed Ezio on how to carry himself. He learned about his shoulders and his hips, the size of his stride and the vigor of swinging his arms, how to hold his head and how to merge into a crowd and change without anyone ever noticing. His build was to his advantage, he was tall, but neither thin nor thick, and he could adjust his height by several hand spans depending on how he carried himself. The pinnacle of the seminar came when Paola walked him right by a pair of city guards, and they didn't even glance his way.

"You are a quick study," she said, an alluring smile on her lips. "Now we should teach you how to steal."

"..._Steal?_" he demanded, then caught himself and asked again in a hoarse whisper, "Steal?"

"_Si_," she said. "Unless you've coin in your purse that my girls didn't know about when they set you to bed last night."

Ezio flushed bright red.

"I thought so."

Blending into a crowd was easy. Stealing was decidedly not, though Ezio tried his best. Even taking an entourage of courtesans with them during the instruction, Ezio's hands were not soft enough or quick enough to pick up much coin, and in the end he drew more attention to them than he felt comfortable.

"It is not an easy skill," Paola reassured. "You have the basics, and now you have a few coins to float you." They reentered the back courtyard, the noon clouds still leaving them in complete shade. "You can go now, girls."

"Aw, do we have to?"

"So innocent..."

"He's cute..."

But the three left, still casting hungry gazes at him. Ezio swallowed.

"Now that you have learned how to approach the enemy," Paola said, "we need to find you a suitable weapon."

"What would you have me use?"

"Ah, but you already have the answer," she said, holding up something to Ezio to inspect.

"Hey! My father's blade and bracer... How did you get them?"

Paola smiled, her arched eyebrows rising in accusation. She had stolen them, of course. Ezio cursed, feeling abashed. "It's not exactly in working condition," he said slowly, examining it in more detail. The leather was good quality and well maintained, and there was metal detail work that was similar in design to the stylized belt Ezio was currently wearing. The craftsmanship was amazing, save that it was in pieces. The buckles that would normally hold the bracer in place were snapped - replaced easily enough, but there was some kind of blade attached to the buckles, and the blade itself was in three separate pieces. Ezio couldn't even begin to fathom how to put it back together. A blacksmith perhaps?

"I assume you're familiar with Leonardo da Vinci?"

"_Si_," Ezio said, looking up from his inspection, surprised to hear the name of the painter from the prostitute's lips. "But how does a painter factor into this?"

Paola gave an airy, mysterious smile. "I know him quite well, and he's far more than that. Bring him the pieces. You'll see."

How did a courtesan know a painter? Was he a guest here? Ezio shook his head, not wanting to think about it.

"Before I go, one last question, if I may."

"Of course."

Ezio paused, uncertain if he should ask. But... "Why have you given your aid so readily to me, a stranger?"

Paola gazed at him for a long time, eyes hooded, calculating again, before she lifted up her sleeve to reveal a disconcerting network of scars. "I too know betrayal," she said simply. "Now go."

Ezio had a small meal, rushing through it before setting out. He thought he might have heard Claudia call to him, but his mind was set on his work and he didn't want to be distracted. He _had_ to make things safe for his family before they left. And... where would they go? They had been in Florence all their lives, but... Ezio shook his head, merging into a crowd heading south to the Duomo before hooking west, deeper into the San Giovanni district and towards Leonardo's studio. He had an uncle in Tuscany, would he take them in...? That would have to come later; his first priority was getting the odd bracer working again and then killing _Gonfaloniere_ Uberto Alberti. Nothing could be considered until that man was dead. He didn't care how long it took or what he had to do, he would _kill_ that man.

He passed his villa, and for a brief moment he entertained the idea of going in, getting some things, but he saw a line of guards at the front gate; and "quick study" though he was he didn't think he could be completely invisible entering the villa, and with a pang of regret he pulled his hood further down, hunched his shoulders, and passed by his home. Another thing destroyed by That Man...

He shook his head.

He found the studio easily, surprised to realize he had only been here two days ago. It felt like a lifetime...

Knocking, there was no immediate answer, and so Ezio tested the door to find it unlocked, and he entered the studio.

It was an unmitigated mess, every inch of space covered with parchment and quills, protractors and compasses and straightedges. No less than three easels were set up with paintings in various states of completion - one of them had bits of mathematics written on the sketch, an equation of some sort, and a man inside a circle and a square. The walls were covered with drapes half hung, attempts at still life that were overgrown with pots of powders and oils waiting to be mixed into paint. The room was filled with the scents of oils and paints, and something was rotting, perhaps food. It was like no studio Ezio had ever seen.

Leonardo was crouched over a table, studying something, muttering to himself before looking up.

"Oh!" he said, eyes widening in surprise. "Ezio Auditore!" He smiled; suddenly flush, as he maneuvered around the table to approach him. "I... I didn't expect to see _you_ again, with all that's happened. Ah! Where are my manners? Welcome back!" His stumbling speech was punctuated with a sudden hug, the painter throwing his arms around Ezio in a friendly manner that startled the young Florentine completely. The man was certainly forward! "Now, how can I be of service?"

"I was hoping you could repair something of mine."

"Of course!" the man said, running a hand through his blond hair. "Come, this way." He gestured to one of his tables, and tsked when he saw the state of it. "Oh, what a mess. I've spent the whole day looking for... Let me clear a space." And with a broad sweep of his hand he shoved everything off to a corner, several pieces of parchment falling to the floor.

"Aren't they important...?"

"Alright, let's see it," Leonardo said, nonplussed by what he had done. Suddenly weary of this scatterbrain breaking his father's bracer further, he handed the pieces over with great hesitation. The blond painter took one look at it, however, and all but snatched it out of Ezio's hands. "Fascinating..." he muttered, turning it over and looking at all the pieces, eyes alight in curiosity. "I don't know, Ezio," he said after a drawn out examination. "Despite its age, the construction is rather advanced. I've never seen anything quite like it..." he overturned it again, changing the arrangement of the pieces, as if the mystery would somehow reveal itself to him.

At length he studied the bracer until, "I'm afraid, there's not much I can do without the original plans," he said, looking up with disappointment. "_Mi dispace_."

"I understand," Ezio said, also disappointed. He would kill Uberto another way. He moved to take the bracer back, perhaps Paola knew someone else, but Leonardo, still looking it over, pulled out a piece of paper from between the leather straps. "Wait, wait, wait!" he said. "A surprise indeed!" The painter pulled open the parchment, eyes roving over the text.

Ezio couldn't make out the text, the language wasn't one he was familiar with; he had practiced his French, and he knew a few words of Turkish from his father's dealings with Constantinople, but this wasn't one he recognized. He was surprised, then, when Leonardo immediately grabbed a quill and began copying the text down.

"What are you doing?"

"The contents of this page are encrypted," Leonardo said, working furiously. "A puzzle, how exciting! I wonder if it is simply a letter substitution cipher... But if my theory is correct... based on the sketches it may very well..."

Ezio frowned, not understanding a word of the man's half-sentences. "It may very well what?" he asked.

"Please, sit."

"Leonardo I-"

"Sh-sh-sh!"

Ezio groused, not fond of the idea of staying but unwilling to leave the encoded paper that belonged to his father to anyone. He pulled up a chair and crossed his legs, eyeing the painter in irritation, before he shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps it was just Leonardo's way. His excitement when talking about the world had been infectious before, and Ezio had thought nothing of it. Now, though, the former noble understood that such excitement would never follow him. His was on a different path; he was the head of the family now, he had people to look after, responsibility of his name and his title. He had no choice but to follow it, and so luxuries like excitement over coded pages, or wonder at a piece of metalwork, would have to go to someone else. Thinking of it like that, Ezio decided he should be happy that Leonardo _could_ take such fascination.

... He'd be happy for Leonardo when he had the damn bracer and parchment back.

Damn painter.

He wasn't sure how long he waited, watching Leonardo scribble furiously across several pieces of parchment before grabbing Ezio's father's bracer and fiddling with it. It all blurred together in Ezio's mind, and he studied the studio some more, eyeing the paints and wondering what it would take to paint a portrait.

"There! It's finished!"

"What?"

"The blade," Leonardo said, a bright smile on his face. I managed to decode that parchment of yours. It showed me exactly what to do. Quite fascinating, the cipher was brilliant, and the blade, it was a piece of art once I understood what to do! But it's fixed now, all that's left is to remove your ring finger."

Ezio blinked, trying to catch up. The encrypted paper, had instructions on how to fix the blade...? And now that it was done, Ezio had to remove _his finger?_

"... Really?" he asked in disbelief.

"I'm sorry," Leonardo said brightly in a voice that indicated the exact opposite. He held up a butcher knife as if to prove the point. "But this is how it must be done. The blade is designed to ensure the 'commitment' of whoever wields it."

Commitment? How committed was Ezio to killing Uberto?

Three bodies swung on the gallows of his mind's eye.

... Completely committed.

"_Bene_," he said, his voice hard and flattened his hand onto the table. "Do it quickly." He sucked in a deep bre_ath holy shit do I have to live through losing finger?_

Leonardo blinked, perhaps surprised at the conviction, but laughed and threw the knifed onto the table. "I was only having fun, Ezio!" he said expansively. Ezio's flat look in return made the painter blush, and he coughed, refocusing on the point. "Though the blade once required a sacrifice, it's been modified. Quite a genius, its inventor. You can keep your finger." He held out the bracer and Ezio took it, still glowering over the joke, and strapped it on. There was an inner lining he hadn't noticed before, some kind of fur or soft material that made the bracer almost mold to his arm, and the blade settled easily onto the inside of his wrist. There was a string with a ring on it, and Ezio looped it around his finger; the tugging made the blade spring out of its sheath with a soft, almost inaudible hiss.

"Incredible..." he said, experimenting with his finger to make it sheath itself again. Several practice movements with his fist made him learn how to extract and contract the blade easily, it was remarkably sleek and efficient. Even Ezio, not an expert on mechanics, appreciated the design.

"Yes it is!" Leonardo said. "Tell me, do you have other pages like this?"

"I'm sorry, only the one."

"Too bad, such a puzzle! I haven't been truly challenged like that in quite a while. The papers indicate that other pages exist; if you ever find them, please bring them to me, I'd love to have a look at it!"

"You have my word," Ezio said. He found himself smiling, however briefly. Now he could be happy for the man. "And thank you for fixing this. It-"

A pounding came at the door.

"By order of the Florentine Guard, open this door!"

The pair looked at each other, surprised. They knew exactly why a city guard was here, and the two stood frozen for a moment, wondering what to do.

Leonardo thought a bit faster. "Eh, just a moment!" he called out, ringing his hands slightly. Nervous energy made him shift his weight from one foot to the next. "Wait here," he whispered, Ezio already moving to hug the far wall, away from the door. The blond painter waited a few moments more before pulling at his blue doublet and adjusting his cap, taking a breath and walking up to the entrance of the studio, opening the door.

"Are you Leonardo da Vinci?"

"_Si_. How may I be of service?"

"I need you to answer some questions."

"Certainly. What seems to be the trouble?"

"A witness claims to have seen you consorting with an enemy of the city."

Ezio cursed under his breathe, while Leonardo made a dismissive wave of the hand. "What? Me? Consorting? Preposterous!" God, what a terrible actor!

The guard seemed to agree, his eyes narrowing. "When was the last time you saw or spoke to Ezio Auditore?"

"Who?" the painter asked, a nervous giggle in his voice.

"Don't play dumb with me!" The guard spat, patience at an end. "We know you were close to the family."

"I'd hardly call us close," Leonardo said quickly, raising his hands in a placating gesture, words tumbling out of his mouth. "The _Madonna_ commissioned a painting or two from me and-"

"Perhaps this will clear your head!" the guard spat, shoving Leonardo into the studio and making the artist trip over a table. This was followed with a vicious kick to the man's head and then his gut. The guard was oblivious to the third man in the room, and Ezio simply could not abide the man beating a friend without provocation. People had rights!

Growling, Ezio used his father's hidden blade for the first time, extracting the blade and plunging it into the city guard's back.

His first use of the blade, his first kill, was in protection of an innocent man, and would define him for the rest of his life.

"_Grazie,_ Ezio," Leonardo grunted as he got up, rubbing his head and then his midsection.

Ezio looked down at the body, and the blood that was spilling all over the floor. Death... it was messy... "Sorry about that," he said slowly, looking down at his now bloody hand. He wondered if he should have felt remorse, but found that he couldn't, now knowing that this man was so abusive of his power.

"Eh," the artist said, waving it off. "I've grown accustomed to their abuses."

What did that mean? Never mind. "What of the body?"

"Oh, just put it with the others."

_That_ made Ezio blink.

"... 'Others' ?" What kind of painter _was_ this man?

"The city gives them to me," Leonardo explained, already grabbing the arms of the corpse, leaving Ezio to hurry and grab the legs. "For research." The pair lifted the dead weight, sidestepping to a remote corner of the studio and down a set of stairs to a basement where, indeed, Ezio saw other wrapped carcasses. They dumped the body with the pile. "See?" Leonardo said. "Like it never happened."

Ezio studied the painter for a long moment, realizing just how far the man had just gone to protect the deposed Auditore. The former noble smiled.

"Thank you Leonardo. For everything." The moment held, Leonardo flushing with embarrassment, perhaps modesty, before Ezio spoke again. "Now, I really should be getting back to Paola."

"Of course. Send her my regards!"

Were the two lovers? Never mind. Ezio bid his farewells and once more braved the streets of Florence, thinking about his stride and his posture as he weaved in and out of the crowds, back to the brothel. He made the journey in a little under an hour, just in time for supper, and grimaced as he realized the brothel was full of guests. He tried very hard not to stare _too_ much as the men and woman fucking each other as he made his way up the stairs and down the hall that his family had been assigned.

Paola was just stepping out, and her arched eyebrows rose slightly at the site of the young Florentine.

"You were gone quite a while," she said.

Ezio offered a pained grin. "Leonardo likes to talk."

"That he does," Paola said, nodding. "But I trust you did more than just talk?" Ezio grinned, holding up the bracer and easily extending the hidden blade. "Impressive!" the woman said, caressing the bracer.

"I'm rather fond of it myself," Ezio said, still marveling the craftsmanship.

"I've given you the skills," she said, her hand tracing down the bracer to his hand. "Leonardo's given you the blade." Her other hand came up and caressed his knuckles, and intimate gesture that reminded Ezio just what this woman's profession was. "All that remains is the deed."

"Where can I find Uberto?"

"I should know in a few hours. For now, tend to your family."

"_Si. Grazie_, Paola."

The alluring woman walked away, Ezio admiring her form and her firm stride, before entering his room.

"Ezio! Where have you been?**"**

Claudia marched right up to her brother, glaring at him with her hands on her hips. "I saw you leave this morning and then again after lunch. You've left me to look after Mother all by myself!" Her eyes watered. "Do you know how hard that is?" she accused, leveling a finger at him.

"_Mi dispace_, _piccina_," Ezio said quickly, putting his arm on her shoulders. The fifteen year old shrugged out of the touch, still glaring at him. "I've been busy."

"Doing what? _Whoring_?"

"_Claudia_!"

"What am I supposed to think?" she demanded, her voice raising an octave. "_Everything's gone!_ They're all dead and instead of looking out for us you send us to a _brothel_ and then disappear and leave me all by myself! I hate you! I _hate you_! You can't leave me alone, not now, not when I'm about to turn sixteen with no fiancé to turn to and no mother to talk to and no father..." Her voice broke into a sob and fresh tears stained her cheeks.

"Claudia..."

"Don't touch me!" she shouted, once more pulling away from him. "I don't want anything to do with you! Don't come near me! Don't-"

But Ezio was bigger, faster, and stronger, and he threw his little one into a tight embrace, clutching her as she struggled to throw a punch or a kick at him, her tears blinding her from striking as hard as she could. He held her until her struggles ceased, and she collapsed into a fresh fit of sobs. Ezio was tempted to join her, to fall apart and allow himself to grieve for the tragedy that had struck them so quickly. But he was the man of the house, now; he had to be the strong one for the family, strong for Claudia. He had been wrong to neglect her today, and it was understandable that she had thought what she had; lesser men had lost themselves to women and drink to forget their pain. He took a deep breath, breathing the scent of her hair, and explained.

"I wasn't fornicating," he said softly to her ear. He felt her stiffen and waited before continuing. "The woman, Paola, she was teaching me to be invisible to the crowds. I need to be able to blend in wherever I go. This afternoon? I went to see a painter named Leonardo, from Vinci; he helped me fix a bracer Father had... had left me. I'm not abandoning you. I'm making preparations."

"Preparations?" Claudia asked into his chest. "For _what_?"

Ezio pulled back slightly to look at his sister, still a child, still innocent of the ways of the world, and he realized he could not spare her. It wouldn't be right and besides, he could not do this alone. Not completely, try though he might.

"I'm going to kill the man responsible for this," he said in a deadly serious voice.

He watched as her eyes widened, her face slacking in shock as she came to understand this was not an idle threat or boastful promise. This was a vow. To himself. To her. To their mother. To their dead family. To the honor of their name.

Her face, too, took on a serious tone. It should not have to look like that, her face, it should be filled with laughter and hope and anticipation, but Uberto had robbed her even of this, and Ezio burned in anger all over again as another piece of his life was ripped from him.

"I understand," she said, voice strong as steel. "What do you need me to do?"

"Look after Mother," Ezio said, kissing her forehead in gratitude. "I know it is difficult, but I cannot avenge our family and look after her at the same time. Once we're free, I'll take my share of the duties."

"Of course," Claudia said, nodding. "I can do that."

"_Bene,_" he said. "Let us eat, for now. I may be leaving again later."

The three supped together quietly in their room, a light meal of bread and pasta and wine. The two tried to talk to their mother, but she sat mute, mostly picking at her food, a tear occasionally streaking down her face. Ezio and Claudia exchanged more than a few worried glances, and they took turns holding her hand before a soft knock came at their door. Paola entered, graceful and alluring in every movement, and delivered her news.

"According to my girls, _Gonfaloniere_ Uberto Alberti will be attending an unveiling tonight of Verrocchio's latest work. It will be held at the Santa Croce cloister."

Ezio nodded. "I understand. I'll leave immediately." He turned to his sister, meeting here eyes, and she nodded. He turned to Paola.

"Watch over my mother and sister while I'm away."

"Of course, Ezio. As if they were my own."

And with that, Ezio was off. Behind the clouds the sun was very low in the sky, the city almost black with shadows - to Ezio's advantage as he merged into the thinning crowds, making his way south through the narrow streets of the San Marco district. Even in such poor light he could hear the hammers of the construction crew still fighting to get just a little bit of work done, the district going through a burst of expansion. He could make out the black silhouettes of scaffolding, of wooden beams hanging out over the dark sky, certain structures still just beams - skeletons of themselves.

He arrived at the Franciscan chapel Santa Croce just as the lamplighters began plying their trade. A relatively new construction, it was the largest Franciscan church in the world and financed by the Pazzi family. The plaza was filled with a few people, but most folk were already making their way into the inner courtyard. Ezio merged with one crowd, meandering slowly across the plaza, when his eyes saw the familiar fat figure of the man he was hunting. With him was another man that Ezio could not make out until they passed by a torch.

"Again with this?" the judge was saying.

"You have overstepped your bounds, Uberto."

"Who are you to speak of bounds?" the _Gonfaloniere_, accused, his voice bitter. "You, who have crowned yourself Lorenzo de' Medici: _Principe_ da Firenze."

Lorenzo, a tall man with a bony face, shook his head.

"I've done no such thing," he said in defense, looking away annoyed. What was the patron of Florence doing here? Wasn't he away... But Ezio realized his delivery to Lorenzo had been two days ago, the steward had said the man would return. Too late, it seemed. Far too late.

"Of _course_ not," Uberto countered, sarcasm and venom in every syllable. "Ever innocent. How convenient." He scoffed before a slick grin spread across his face. "At least now we see how far your reach extends - which is to say - nowhere at all. It proves a valuable lesson for me and my allies."

The Medici scowled. "Yes. Your allies the Pazzi. Is _that_ what this is about?"

But Uberto began walking ahead, shaking his head and calling over his shoulder, "Be careful with your words, Lorenzo. You might attract the wrong sort of attention."

Ezio frowned at first, uncertain what the two were talking about, but decided it didn't matter. Nothing mattered because that bastard was about to die.

The courtyard was filled with people and paintings, the rich and powerful rubbing shoulders as they viewed the works of the artist and commented less on it and more on the gossip of the day. And the gossip of course, was the Auditore family. Ezio took up position by one of the paintings, looking like he was loitering, and watched Uberto from under his hood, following the man's moves and waiting until the dead man came within range to strike.

"Good evening, _Gonfaloniere_," a man said, walking up with his wife and shaking hands with the target.

"To you as well," Uberto replied. "I trust you're enjoying yourselves?"

"Indeed! A nice distraction from that nasty business with the Auditore family."

The judge had the audacity to look sad. "And to think I once thought Giovanni as a brother..." he said. Ezio growled deep in his throat, and pressed his lips together into a tight line to prevent making more noise.

"Don't blame yourself," the husband said. "How could you have known the evils he had planned?"

The wife nodded sagely, saying, "I say we strike his name from the records books. Let history forget he ever even existed."

"Hm. Yes," the target said, "I should look into that. If you'll excuse me for a moment."

Ezio glared, another growl pressing in his chest that he refused to let out. Strike the Auditore from the records? Erase their very existence? Ignore everything the Auditore had _done_? Never. _Never_! Ezio would never let his family name be forgotten in history. _Never!_ He broke away from the painting and started stalking towards the _Gonfaloniere_.

"Uberto!" a woman said. "A moment of your time?"

"Anything for you, Beatrice."

"So! Tell us, how does it feel to be a hero?"

"Please," the judge said. "I am no such thing. As _Gonfaloniere_, it is my duty to ensure that the city of Firenze remains a shining beacon of justice. Corruption and its ills shall land no purchase here so long as I am in control."

Bastard. Bastard! To dare speak of corruption and justice when he was such a _hypocrite_! Ezio advanced further.

"You are a treasure, Uberto," the woman was saying, "I hope Lorenzo recognizes that."

Uberto was about to say something, but his eyes locked onto Ezio, and his eyes doubled in size.

"You...!"

Ezio said nothing, burning with anger, determined to avenge his family, determined to make sure no one forgot the name of his family. His hidden blade extended past his fist; Ezio grabbed Uberto's shoulder to hold him in place, and he stabbed him, deep in the chest, feeling every muscle and sinew and organ be penetrated. It did not satisfy him, and so he pulled his blade out and stabbed again.

And again.

And again.

Blood spurted everywhere, messy and indiscriminate as it stained everything around them, and Ezio stabbed once more, before Uberto's weight finally gave out, and Ezio, still clutching the bastard's shoulder, lowered himself with the target into a controlled fall. He looked into the face of Uberto, grim eyes looking into the shocked orbs of the judge. Uberto's face slowly dawned with understanding, and he looked up at his executioner with something like regret.

"You would have done the same," he gasped. "To save the ones you love."

Ezio had not expected the words; they made him feel something he had not thought he would: understanding. Uberto thought he was protecting his family, and Ezio had performed this deed for the exact same reasons. But even that realization could not outweigh the rage he felt towards this man.

"Yes," he said slowly. "I would. And I _have_."

He laid the body down slowly, wondering if he should feel satisfaction with the job he had done. But there was nothing in him but the rage. Uncertain what more he could do to satisfy himself, he looted the body, finding parchment and stuffing it into his belt for later perusal. He stood, looking out at the shocked crowd, and spied the woman who had dared suggest his name be erased from history. The rage filled his chest, and he suddenly found himself shouting.

"The Auditore are not dead!" he cried out, gaze spinning around the crowd. "_I'm_ still here! _Me_! Ezio Auditore!"

There was a pause, everyone staring, then,

"_Assassino!_"

Everyone started screaming, people running left right and center to get away from the murderer, and Ezio saw guards beginning to flood into the courtyard. Shit, he had not planned for that! For one blinding moment he panicked, but his helpless sister and mother filled his vision. He choked down the fear and sprinted across the courtyard, dashing up an unopened crate and scaling up one of the pillars, hoisting himself up to the tiled roof. It was fully dark now, and only the dim light from inside the chapel giving him any sense of direction, and he ran down the edge of the roof, slipping more than once on the tiles but somehow keeping his footing. He crashed into an exterior wall, cursing before hopping up to the crossbeam of a window nearby and using it to climb even higher. The city guards were still chasing him, much more tentatively, and he used that to push more distance between them.

His eyes finally started to adjust to the light, and he made his way to the edge of the roof with surer steps, swinging over its edge and climbing down a few feet before he came to a halt, having lost any sign of hand or foot holds. Damn. What was he supposed to do now?

He looked down below him, spying a cart full of flowers directly below him. Could he stand the fall? He would have to; he couldn't go back. He wouldn't want to at any rate.

"Father," he prayed, "Please look out for me."

He let go.

The wind rushed through his ears and for a split second he thought he was going to die, but the flowers suddenly surrounded him, and he let out a startled gasp that he had survived. Ezio giggled slightly, adrenaline pumping through his body, before he realized he couldn't stay there and pulled himself out. His legs almost couldn't take his weight after the shock, but he pulled himself together and sprinted across the piazza and up the streets before ducking into an alley and stopping. Ears listening for anything, he could hear no signs of pursuit. That didn't necessarily mean anything, however, and so he kept to the unlit alleys for almost an hour before finally exiting out to a street, the lamplight bright to his dilated eyes. Very few people were out at this late hour, but Ezio remembered what he had learned from Paola, and moved like he had purpose and direction and made his way north.

He knocked on the brothel's door, and he was inside for perhaps two minutes before Paola arrived, looking at him from halfway up the stairs with her mysterious calculating eyes.

Slowly, she stepped down and embraced him. "It is a difficult thing, what you have done. I'm sorry."

The sympathy and regret somehow surprised him, and he gingerly returned the hug, uncertain how else to respond. The courtesan led Ezio wordlessly up to the stairs to his room, and Claudia, pacing about the chamber, immediately threw her arms around him, squeezing for all she was worth.

"I think it best we leave Firenze," he said slowly when they finally pulled apart. "I'm certain my face will be described to everyone by the morning, so the sooner the better."

"Where will you go?" Paola asked.

"My uncle Mario owns a villa in Tuscany, near Monteriggioni, I think."

The courtesan nodded. "I understand. You do not have much time. I will collect your mother."

Claudia looked to her brother. "Tuscany?"

"We don't have anywhere else to go. I'd rather leave Italia all together; I'll have to think on that."

Paola returned with Maria, still mute and staring off into nothing, clutching Petruccio's feather box. The three piled down the stairs, their meager possessions fitting into only one sack that Ezio had clasped around his shoulder. He gave one last look to Paola, who had done so much for him in such a short amount of time, all because Annetta was her sister, all because the housemaid had spoken highly of them. Ezio swore he would find a way to return the favor in the future, if he ever could return to Florence.

"Thank you again, for everything."

Paola touched his shoulder gently, before kissing his cheek.

"Stay safe, Ezio. Stay vigilant. I suspect the road ahead is yet long."

Ezio nodded.

And they left.

The streets were dark, but that was fine for Ezio, his eyes were always good, and he leaned into his sister. "I'll keep an eye out for the guards and distract them if I have to. Keep an eye on Mother and make sure she doesn't stray."

"I understand," Claudia said, looping an arm around Maria's shoulders and gently turning her.

Ezio stalked out in front to take point, his eyes sharp as an eagle as he navigated the streets. The San Marco district was thick with guards, and Ezio more than once had to backtrack with his sister and mother to a back alley, filled with the stench of feces and stagnant water. He was accustomed to it, taking shortcuts as a courier, but Claudia constantly complained. "It _stinks_," she whispered hoarsely, trying to cover her nose with her sleeve.

"Worry after we're past the gates," Ezio muttered, annoyed.

They finally reached the city wall, and Ezio felt slightly better, knowing that few people indeed - even guards, frequented the walls, and he walked with some confidence as he followed the wall north. Maria was not equipped to walk in the uneven ground, however, and tripped more than once. Ezio was forced to help Claudia with their mother, both holding her as they made their way through soft dips and hills and puddles. Ezio prayed it wouldn't start to rain; they had only the clothes on their back and nothing to safeguard themselves. As it was, Ezio had already shrugged off his cloak and donated it to his mother, her health more worrying than Claudia.

They reached the gates and Ezio started to curse very creatively. It was filled with city guards, no doubt deliberately placed to prevent anyone from leaving the city.

"What do we do?" Claudia asked.

"I don't know."

"But we have to leave the city."

"I know."

"Then how do we sneak past them?"

"I don't _know_..."

"_Messer_ Ezio?"

The three Auditore looked over to see a pair of courtesans, barely clothed in even the cold December air.

"What do you want?" he asked, wary.

"Paola sent us," one of them said. "She said you might need help getting past the gates."

That woman, how could she be so kind?

"You mean you can get us past the guards?" Claudia asked, dubious.

"Child, watch a pair of masters at work," the other said, smiling not unkindly to the fifteen-year-old. "Wait until it's safe."

"But when will that-"

"You'll know when that is."

And the two disappeared into the shadows, leaving Ezio and Claudia to look at each other, uncertain what was going to happen. They shrugged, and instead huddled close to their mother, hoping their proximity would keep her warm. Her hands were like ice, but she refused to let go of the feather box.

"What beautiful ladies! _Bellisima_!"

"Such an elegant dance, such an elegant leg..."

"_Brava, brava_! Again!"

The two siblings looked to each other, and crept closer to the gate, uncertain what was happening. Ezio could make out the two courtesans, along with three others, dancing by the gate, the guards watching them in rapt fascination and not a little bit of lust. Several had broke rank to get a better look, and the far end of the gate was wide open.

"This way," Ezio whispered, blessing Paola again for her kindness and guiding his family slowly through the gate and down the road. The clouds parted, a full moon casting light over the expanse of Florentine territory. They... they had left the city. For the first time in their lives... Not off for a visit, or going on a trip, just _leaving_...

Ezio shook his head, trying to focus on the future. They had no money to hire a coach, nor would he want to draw that kind of attention. They would have to walk all the way to Tuscany. He groaned at the thought and rubbed his face, taking a deep breath and bracing himself. "Come on," he said slowly, taking his mother's arms and helping to guide her down the road.

The night dragged on. Neither Ezio nor Claudia had slept well, and the darkness made them tired. Ezio struggled to hold it at bay but his sister was not accustomed to difficulty in her life, and her youth made her tiredness cranky.

"I'm tired, Ezio. How long until we reach Monteriggioni?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think Uncle Mario will remember us? It's been so long since we've seen him."

"I don't know, I hope so."

"... How could this have happened to us?"

"I don't know..."

"Will we ever be back?"

"I don't know..."

"What will happen to our house?"

"I don't_ know_."

"How... how will I find a husband after this?"

"_I don't know,_" Ezio said frustrated.

"Were they..." Claudia paused, looking down. "Were they given a proper burial?"

And at last Ezio understood, and he put his irritation aside in favor of giving her what she needed. "Yes," he said, his voice once more cracking at the memory. "They were."

Claudia mulled over that, still helping her mother, before she nodded. "Good. At least they can rest in peace."

"Yes."

"Did they..." Her pause stretched out even longer. "Did they suffer?"

Frederico slowly choking, Giovanni brained to death, Petruccio's neck snapping. Ezio closed his eyes to the vision, and lied to his sister.

"No."

They walked dee_per into the night._

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Poor Ezio. Poor Claudia. Poor everyone, really. Don't worry, Ezio, it gets better, we promise!

Take note that Ezio doesn't really allow himself to grieve. That will resolve itself much, much later (hint: fever dream). Also note that Leonardo is already smitten with Ezio; and Ezio is utterly clueless. We're going to have _sooooo_ much fun "teasing" Ezio with that...

Anyway, no major changes here - again, the beginning memories really write themselves. We did change a few things with Leonardo meeting the guard and being assaulted - the game makes a point of putting almost everything outside, but sometimes that just doesn't make sense, and so the guard shoved his way into the studio. We also smoothed out the training Paola gives Ezio and made it make more sense. Poor Ezio, seventeen and still so innocent. While we know just what kind of "relationship" he has with women, we made the very deliberate reason to hold off on his womanizing at first - he had Cristina, for one thing, and that actually plays a part in how he becomes the womanizer. And so he hasn't been to a brothel yet and is a little overwhelmed. Poor Ezio.

Also note the Leap of Faith; that, too, will come up again later.

Next up: Desmond.


	5. Glyphs

**Part Five: Glyphs**

Desmond slowly blinked. It was strange seeing bright lights, wooden beams and old brick. He had been expecting to see moon, stars, and cold, muddy roads. He took a deep breath and reached up to rub at his eyes, which were burning.

"Just a sec, Desmond," was the warm contralto of Rebecca, and Desmond didn't even grunt when he felt the Animus plug-in easily removed from his arm. He sat up slowly, since slowly seemed the only way to move, and again reached for his face to rub his eyes.

There were dried tear tracks.

Tracks from the corner of his eyes back to his hairline, from watching Ezio's family swinging from the gallows and _feeling_ the _anger, despair, denial, Vengeance!_ And the overpowering _grief_. His breath hitched at just the thought of it and his eyes felt misty, but Desmond determinedly lowered his hands and focused on the computer banks, the servers, the signs of _his_ time, that he wasn't in the Renaissance and that he _hadn't_ just watched his family get slaughtered.

Desmond suddenly wondered where his father was. His own family.

The fact that they were in danger of a similar fate was decidedly _not_ helping. Because while Ezio didn't know why Giovanni, Frederico, and Petruccio were killed, Desmond was pretty damn sure why. They were Assassins. The Templars needed no other reason.

"Desmond?" Lucy stepped softly over to him, lightly putting a hand on his shoulder. In a bizarre way, it reminded him of Paola putting her hand lightly on Ezio's shoulder, the quiet comfort of one who understood despair and having a life ripped apart.

Ezio's life was currently in pieces. Paola's had been destroyed some time prior. Lucy had suffered through _years_ of working for Abstergo. And Desmond's own life had just been put in a blender.

Too much empathy. People shouldn't be able to _empathize_ with a life being torn apart.

"I'm fine," he said quietly. He didn't want to talk about it. "I think I need some air, though."

"That's fine," Lucy said, squeezing his shoulder. Her eyes held even more understanding and Desmond couldn't stand it. He stood up and nodded to her, before stalking out of the loft.

He tripped over his own feet heading down to the warehouse, a sign of just how affected he was, but Desmond didn't let that stop him as he just started walking the perimeter, legs and arms pumping in a steady rhythm that just let him float in his consciousness and _not think_ about what he'd just survived.

And really, he couldn't even say he'd simply witnessed it. He'd _survived_ it. Because by being in the Animus, he _felt_ everything Ezio felt, saw those inner most thoughts of anger, denial, panic, terror, grief. Saw things that weren't his place to see. Just like there were times when he lived through Altair's memories it was hard to stay in synch just because the _privacy_ didn't exist, and Desmond felt that seeing the very souls of his ancestors was stepping beyond any kind of moral or ethical bounds.

... He _really_ needed to focus on something else.

Desmond looked around as he made another circuit around the factory-cum-warehouse and noted that some of the stacks of crates were uneven enough that he could likely use his agility to climb, which would definitely work for the exercise regime he had in mind. Weights could be something as simple as those ancient heavy books if that prick Shaun let him haul them around. His main areas of weakness were strength and endurance. Given how he held back in the Animus back when he was in Abstergo, Desmond knew how agile he _could_ be, but he wasn't sure if he was quite there yet. He knew he had better climbing skills than Ezio for the moment, though Federico's hints about cracks that could support weight were something Desmond hadn't known.

Desmond's eyes misted again and he shook his head, stepping up his pace.

Endurance was just a matter of doing his exercises for longer and longer stretches. He remembered what he had gone through on the Farm and Desmond was pretty sure he could follow those dusty memories for most of his practice. There were plenty of crates to run around, to say nothing of the overhead lights if he was feeling ambitious. Strength would be a problem since he doubted Lucy or the others had weights that he could attach to his feet or wrists as he exercised.

He wondered if he could jury-rig something...

"Hey, Desmond, you okay?"

Desmond started slightly, having been so locked in his head, but he glanced up to the stairs and saw Rebecca leaning over the rail.

Blinking again, Desmond wondered how long he'd been down here. His body felt like he'd been going at this for at least an hour.

"Fine," he called back up to her and changed directions to come up the stairs to the landing Rebecca was on.

"You sure?" Rebecca asked.

Desmond smirked, though he didn't quite feel like it. "Right as rain."

The techie smiled. "You were setting up a good pace there." Reaching out she grabbed Desmond's wrist and took his pulse. "Whoa, you're not even that phased."

Desmond shrugged. "I used to jog a few miles every morning. On my way to and from work, I'd go with some free-runners in the neighborhood once in a while. I was always able to school them."

Rebecca's smile was bright and enthusiastic. "Wish I coulda met you back then. We'd have gotten along great."

"Oh, you like parkour?"

"Any extreme sport that pushes your limits! Preferred snowboarding myself, a little skydiving, stuff like that." She glanced him over. "You going to stretch?"

"Yeah. Just not on metal grating of a landing," he replied with a smirk that was a bit more sincere. "Men have things that are a touch more delicate to take into account."

Rebecca threw he head back in a rich laugh. "I can't wait to see you and Shaun start fencing."

"I doubt I can handle a sword at the moment," Desmond replied, heading up the stairs.

Rebecca followed. "No, not with swords. Drop an s there, with _words_. Sarcasm."

He chuckled. "I'll get trounced every time."

Once they were at the wood-floored hallway, Desmond set himself down under the windows and started to go through his stretches.

"We're getting some lunch ready. You wanna join?" Rebecca smiled.

"Stretching usually takes a half-hour or so. I'll be there in a bit."

"Sure thing."

Huh. Rebecca had done a better job cheering him up than walking had. Desmond was so used to being a loner, he'd forgotten that just being able to talk with someone could be a release of sorts. But then, he hadn't had anyone to talk to in ten years, not really. Sure he could talk a fair bit, it was part and parcel to being a bartender, but there was never a connection. He never offered a piece of himself, because no one could understand. Here, there were people who _could_.

Who'd have thought?

Desmond chuckled to himself. Being back with the Assassins was probably the best thing to happen for his lonely heart in a long, long time.

After going through his stretches, he headed to the kitchenette to hear some laughing. He came in to find Lucy wiping tears from her eyes as Shaun, next to her at the small round table, held a knowing grin. Next to Shaun, Rebecca was still giggling and gently elbowing him in the side.

Desmond smiled. His own life hadn't had many reasons to smile, not when training under his father, and not during his years away. He'd either been in what he thought was a prison or on his own with no connections. This team, however... Rebecca seemed to be team-cheerleader, or at least happy-puppy, Shaun's sarcasm was humorous, if in a more wry manner and Lucy... Well Desmond wasn't sure he needed a reason to smile when he looked at her.

Shaking his head ruefully, Desmond took the empty seat between Lucy and Rebecca.

"Ah, our baby Assassin returns," Shaun gave a superior smirk. "Had a little cry and now ready to join the adults?"

Desmond brushed aside the comment. He turned to Lucy and gave a warm smile meant only for her. "Good to see you smiling at last," he offered.

Lucy wiped tear from her eye and gave a soft smile. "It's nice to finally have a _reason_ to smile," she said.

"Ooh," Rebecca cooed. "Is there something going on under our eyes, Shaun?"

"Yeah, sure, right," the Brit scoffed. "Our well trained, back from deep-cover friend with a baby. Do you like pedophilia?"

Desmond sighed. "I might be a new Assassin, but I'm no baby."

"Whatever you say," Shaun waved it off, "I'll believe that when you can actually, oh, I don't know, _fight_, since right now you're about as useful as a deflated tire."

"I'm guessing you'll provide the hot air?" Desmond replied. Rebecca and Lucy both broke out laughing.

Shaun actually sat there, slackjawed for a moment, then took a breath to start his own facetious comeback when Lucy interrupted.

"Shaun, didn't you say you had a _favor_ for Desmond?"

The Brit sucked in a breath and scowled horribly. "I've got a little request for you," he said stiffly. "I've identified several strange markings that I've discovered right across Renaissance Italy in the Animus. Now, I don't know what they're doing there, but I want you to help me find out. Rebecca has marked their general location in the database with an icon and she's made them glow as well. Keep an eye out."

Desmond nodded, all seriousness. "Won't be a problem. Now," he drawled out, looking to all of them, "would it be okay if I had some actual lunch?"

Shaun was still sour and Rebecca was still giggling when Desmond seated himself back in the Animus. Lucy had a smile hovering on her lips, but she was refocused on her monitor.

Desmond knew his victory over Shaun was temporary, but he kept his grin inside as Rebecca gently input the Animus plug. Everything around him faded and Desmond closed his eyes.

He was in the white room, waiting for Rebecca to load wherever he was going to end up and he decided to see if anything had really... bled over yet. He took off running, knowing he wasn't really going anywhere, pushing his limits, going as fast as he could and then trying to reach beyond. It didn't last long as he faded and returned to... where was he now?

Italy, certainly, the question was where. It didn't look like the countryside Ezio was, this city looked like it had more wealth.

Well, best way to learn was to climb.

So Desmond checked his gear in his Ezio avatar, making sure nothing would trip him up, and sprinted right for the face of a building and started climbing, having a better understanding of what his handholds would be compared to his Italian ancestor at this point. Once up on the roofs, he looked around and saw the Duoma off in the distance. Right, he was in Florence.

"So, what buildings am I supposed to go to?" he asked, looking up to the sky.

"_Well, that brothel's closest to your location,_" Shaun's disembodied voice replied. "_But given your reaction last time to a romantic encounter, I wonder if you can handle it?_" the Brit said snidely.

Desmond chuckled. Clearly Shaun didn't get how it worked in the Animus. Being in the memory and _feeling_ everything was one thing. Now he was finally in control and aware that everything around him wasn't a bustling city but lifeless constructs. Nothing here would affect him.

"Rosa Colta it is," he said with a smile. He took off like a shot, racing as he did with the parkour enthusiasts, hopping over alleys, leaping onto beams, easily keeping his balance on the roofs.

"_Whoa, that's awesome!_" Rebecca's voice was clearly smiling.

"_You never did anything like this at Abstergo,_" Lucy agreed.

Desmond chuckled as he ran. "Didn't want those bastards to see what I could really do. Plus it was an excuse to stall," he explained, thinking in particular of all those horribly failed attempts to reach Sibrand on his ship. All those times Desmond dove into the water to reset and waste time. He let out another exhilarating laugh as he ran across the rooftops.

Naturally, it couldn't last. He miscalculated on of the jumps and ended up in free fall. "Shiiiit!" he cried out, flailing for some sort of handhold. Somehow, he grasped the edge of a wooden platform that was randomly there for no good reason and _ow_ it felt like his arm was pulled from its socket with the forceful stopping of his descent.

Clearly need some more practice...

Desmond took it a bit more slowly as he headed to the Rosa Colta. He stopped once he saw the red drapings adorning the building and just paused. "So there's a marking here?"

"_Yes_," Lucy said. "_Give Rebecca a second, we'll set the time for night. It should make the glow easier to spot_."

"You can do night? Back at Abstergo I was stuck at super-hot noontime."

"_Never underestimate the skills of my Baby_," Rebecca chirped. "_You can swim too. Once Lucy explained the reset of the original Animus, I immediately got to work on fixing it_!"

"... Sweet..." Desmond couldn't hold back a smile. He watched the sky slowly start to change as the colors became a more orangey red for sunset. There was no sun, not that he could see, but once it was dark, the only light seemed to come from the candles below. Yet he could still see better than his ancestor could at night. Likely Rebecca's coding made things easier to see.

He was on the west side of the Rosa Colta, looking at a flower-encrusted balcony. As the night fell, he could see the distinct glow on the south side of the highest tier of the building, so Desmond leapt across and stood in front of the symbol, an _omega_ with a dot in the middle.

"_There's one of the symbols_," Shaun said in a voice of wonder."_What does it mean? It must be there for a reason. Take a closer look_."

Desmond stared hard at the symbol, waiting for something to happen. Minutes later, he let out a frustrated growl and started running his hands over the apparently painted symbol and nothing happened.

"_Are you even trying?_" Shaun grumbled.

"Not my fault this thing doesn't come with a damn instruction booklet," Desmond grumbled right back.

If he could only _see_ what he needed to...

Desmond blinked. With a quiet breath, he wondered if it would work inside the Animus the way it did in reality. He'd seen both Altair and Ezio use it, so clearly the Animus could approximate it, but he wasn't sure if that was just because it was what the system was pulling from his old DNA or if it could actually bring forth his Eagle Vision.

Closing his eyes, Desmond reached for that part of his mind that was as sharp as an eagle, pulled it forward, prayed it would work, and opened his eyes.

"Whoa, _glowing_ indeed," since the glow of the symbol in night was _nothing_ compared to the luminescent glow in Eagle Vision.

"_Wait, that... that's not possible,_" Rebecca stuttered._ "This can't be... Hold on, that's _computer_ code. Let me compile it... Oh, shit it's an encrypted file_."

"_Upload it to my computer. I'm master at decryption._" Shaun replied with absolute confidence.

"_I can't!_" Rebecca growled in frustration._ "It's only compatible with the Animus itself. This is why Abstergo is so stupid! No compatibility!_"

"_... Okay, upload it to _Desmond_, then_," the Brit groused. "_I can't believe this..._"

Florence faded away and Desmond was instead looking at a tangled black mess of... rectangles. Like some sort of abstract art that was shifting and animated.

"And this is, what exactly?"

No one had a chance to reply. A voice that skipped and skittered around like a cross between a corrupted mp3 and a broken record started to speak in the darkness.

"Hello. This is... uh," the voice stuttered in an anxious tenor. "Eh, they call me Subject Sixteen. Listen, I don't have much time. There's something I _have_ to show you..." the voice pleaded. "We have been lied to this whole time, everything we know, everything we've been brought up to believe... i-is wrong..." There was a long moment of silence. "Okay... um... I've uploaded the evidence... The file th-th-that proves it all! But I've split it into pieces and locked each with a code..." was the explanation before a paranoid lilt entered the voice. "Hehheh can't be too careful...

"Queen Isabella... no, not her... Um... Ah... Grr, what century is it?" the voice growled in frustration. "Grrrr... N-never mind I've hidden the code to the first file inside this program," he tailed off in a whisper. "Find it. Find them all, and along the way you'll begin to see The Truth."

"_What the heck_..." Shaun offered his own stutter."_How did this get inside our Animus?_"

"_Oh, oh!_" Lucy exclaimed."_The memory core! We transferred Sixteen's memory data from Abstergo into the Animus 2.0. He must have hacked the machine when Vidic left him alone between sessions_."

"Hold on, wait a second," Desmond said, thinking hard on those bloodied walls. "The signs on the walls in Abstergo... The ones written in blood... Those were clues," he reasoned. "He was telling us to look for them inside the Animus."

"_Maybe_..." Lucy agreed. "_I... I did try to help him wherever I could... But I..._"

"It's okay," Desmond replied softly. "You can't be everywhere and know everything. Besides... you were a prisoner yourself. There was a limit on what you could do."

"_...Thanks, Desmond_."

_**IN THE BEGINNING**_

... appeared in the black miasma, followed shortly by:

FIVE OF THESE MYSTIC SCENES SHARE A **CORE** SIMILARITY.

**PICK** THEM OUT AND YOU'LL BEGIN TO SEE.

Eight Renaissance style pictures appeared. The only one Desmond even recognized was the _Birth of Venus_, but beyond that, he didn't get what he was supposed to do. It appeared that he needed to select five of them, but which five?

Shaun, however, understood the art far better than Desmond.

"_My God, those paintings! That's pure Renaissance art and at its best! Why, look at..._"

The rest Desmond stoutly ignored. Knowing the history of each individual piece was unlikely to be what he needed for solving this puzzle. All around him he could hear everyone talking and discussing. Rebecca was still trying to hack the code, Shaun was mumbling about history, talking about books he had on the shelves to get for reference.

It was Lucy, however, that made everything click for Desmond.

"_Hey, what about those two sentences?_"

"Lucy! You're a genius!" Desmond grinned, selecting the five images that had an apple in them. With talk of cores and picking, it should have been obvious!

Then a distinct chill settled through Desmond as an apple was shown. Not a proper apple, an Apple. _The_ Apple. A Piece of Eden.

PASSCODE FOUND

A video file was unlocked, showing the blurry backs of a man and women, likely naked given the poor quality, jumping with trees ahead of them.

"_That's it? Seriously... that's all we're going to get? Ridiculous..._" Shaun grumbled.

"_It's only a piece of the file,_" Rebecca replied, "_No need to be such a whiny baby._"

"_Wha, me? _Me_, a whiny baby? Don't you mean our baby Assassin Desmond?_"

"_Both of you, knock it off_," Lucy interrupted firmly. "_Now Shaun, where should Desmond go for the next glyph?_"

"_The Ospedale Degli Innocenti_," was the sullen response.

"And in proper English that's supposed to be... what?"

Shaun let out a long sigh. "_The Hospital of the Innocent._"

"And I know where that is... how? The brothel I've, or Ezio, has been to. Not this hospital."

"_An orphanage,_" the historian added. "_And didn't you know how to wander around in the Animus before?_"

"A map," Desmond replied, "that was absolutely useless."

Lucy let out a sharp laugh before quieting it to a chuckle.

"_Oh yeah, the original Animus couldn't form a proper map if its assembler counted on it!_" Rebecca said. "_One of the first things I fixed for my Baby here. I promise, you'll find these maps _much_ more useful_."

"Fine," Desmond sighed, once again feeling the idiot for saying, "Map: Florence."

Then he let out a whistle of appreciation. The map was indeed much better than the mess that The Kingdom had been when he'd been reliving Altair. There were clearly delineated streets, even visual cues on where archways would be.

"Much better indeed."

"_Thank you, thank you_."

Desmond made his way northeast, dashing across rooftops, though at a slower pace than previous as he kept checking his position. The tiled roofs that had tripped up Ezio were no problem for Desmond, who had worked on pitched roofs as a child in his training, plus the nighttime kept him cautious with his footing.

It felt like no time before he arrived at the sprawling hospital with a huge square surrounded by arched porticos. He stayed on the roof, looking around for the telltale glow he'd seen before, the glow that had mathematical equations and random symbols spilling out. But walking around, he didn't quite see it. Not until he reached the western roof and found a raised section of what was likely a small room or crawlspace that sat on top of the tiles. On it was an Egyptian eye, like from a sarcophagus and Desmond couldn't help but wonder where the hell Subject Sixteen got these symbols.

Not wishing to waste time, Desmond reached for his Eagle Vision, unlocking the encryption and looking at the black miasma.

"The past: a vast web of connections and interconnections, all ruled by chance. Or is it?" Sixteen offered in the same static-filled tones.** SIXTY-FOUR SQUARES** appeared as the title to the puzzle.

A circular image that seemed scrambled appeared with a fill-in-the-blank next to it that was missing so many letters Desmond didn't even dare guess what it could be.

"_Well this seems easier,_" Lucy said.

"Easier works for me," Desmond replied, spinning the scrambled sections to line them up with the stationary center.

An old-style picture, pre-Renaissance, appeared of what looked like a queen and this was confirmed as the blanks filled in. _Queen Elizabeth I of England 1559_. At first Desmond couldn't make heads or tails of it, until a box zoomed in to the Queen's right hand, showing a spherical orb of some kind, which was identified before him as ID: PIECE OF EDEN 2 - APPLE.

"_That's one of the Pieces of Eden that Abstergo's been keeping an eye on_," Lucy whispered. "_They eventually acquired it._"

A new image appeared for Desmond to unscramble. It was easy to spin the pieces into place and reveal _Emperor Napoleon I, France 1812_. The box zoomed in to Napoleon's famous portrait, holding his hand inside his shirt and revealed that it was ID: PIECE OF EDEN 1 - APPLE.

"_That's another that Abstergo tracked and acquired,_" Lucy said.

"Gee, we noticing a pattern?"

A third image appeared and Desmond unscrambled it.

_George Washington United States 1781_. And, like Napoleon, he had a hand in his vest. ID: PIECE OF EDEN 3 - APPLE.

"_And that would be a pattern confirmed._"

The video file showed a zoom in on some sort of circular door.

Desmond looked to the sky. "These make no sense."

"_Well of course they wouldn't, not to _you_ anyway_," Shaun said arrogantly. "_You have no understanding of the history of it, the culture. The_-"

"_Shaun!_"

"So where to?" Desmond asked, trying to divert the impending argument.

"_The Santa Croce Basilica,_" Rebecca said.

"Map: Florence."

Desmond started heading due south, once more gliding across rooftops and keeping track of where he was on his map. Once he landed on the Franciscan Basilica, he was again wandering around to try and find the handy glow that Rebecca provided. Unfortunately, it was hard to concentrate. Between the fact that it was nighttime and the fact that this was where Ezio had come to kill Uberto Alberti for ripping his family in half, Desmond was feeling rather torn. Part of him was automatically starting to synch, feeling the anger and rage and vengeance bubbling up from what Ezio had gone through. But he listened instead to his desire to find this damn glyph and figure out what the next puzzle and what he needed to do.

Down below in the plaza, like a ghost, a faintly glowing, see-through apparition of Ezio stalked around, working his way to where he'd ultimately killed the _Gonfaloniere_.

Desmond avoided looking down to the piazza, and kept walking around the roof.

He found the glyph on the north side of the church, easy to spy. Desmond wasn't sure if it was the symbol for pi or a Japanese tori, but it didn't matter as he accessed his Eagle Vision.

The scrambled black miasma surrounded him and Sixteen said, "Power doesn't die. It's passed on."

**DESCENDANTS** appeared and was replaced with a black and white photo of four men. Three were sitting on the couch, one looking right to the camera, and the fourth was using his pointer on a map of the Pacific Ocean. Above it:

HE CARRIED IT WITH HIM. FIND HIS INHERITANCE.

And below it:

_FRANKLIN DELANO ROOSEVELT STRATEGIC MEETING,1944_

There was an option for infrared, which Desmond immediately selected, and started moving the magnifying cursor slowly and methodically around the picture. Finally, on the coffee table in front of the seated men, he felt another chill go down his spine as he saw a Piece of Eden. He selected it and watched the ID appear under it.

ID: PIECE OF EDEN 3

"Wait, I thought Washington had this Apple," Desmond said, confused.

"_A baby Assassin, alright,_" Shaun growled. "_You think this Piece of Eden was buried with one of your founding fathers? Of _course_ it was passed on._"

Well, now Desmond felt like an idiot.

"_So I'm guessing all these puzzles will be on whom those Apples ended up with?_" Rebecca asked, smoothing over the bruising that both men would throw at each other in verbal warfare.

Another photo appeared of a man in early 1900s bathing attire was hung upside down a clear box of some time with three men in odd uniforms keeping an eye on him from below. Underneath the photo was the caption: _HOUDINI BEGINNING THE CHINESE WATER TORTURE CELL ESCAPE, 1912_

Desmond switched to infrared and started his methodical search. He found the Apple floating between the hanging man and the box. It was quickly labeled as ID: PIECE OF EDEN 1, which was originally Napoleon's.

"Now wait," Desmond said, "Houdini was in New York. How'd this Apple get here from France?"

"_Idiot,_" Shaun sighed. "_Harry Houdini, greatest illusionist of all time, was born in Hungary_."

"And that explains everything?"

"_He changed his name from his birth name of Ehri, or 'Harry', Weiss, to Harry Houdini, in honor of Jean Houdin, French magician._"

"So a French magician gave it to Houdini?"

"_Oh, that would have been interesting, given that Houdin died three years before Houdini was even born._"

"Well that's about as clear as mud."

Rebecca laughed. "_That's because Shaun doesn't know._"

"_Oh, do shut up._"

A new black and white photo appeared, showing an Indian man with incredibly short hair and wire glasses, surrounded by other Indians in traditional clothing, walking forward in what appeared to be a treed dirt road. It was captioned: _GHANDI DURING THE SALT MARCH, 1930_

Desmond switched to infrared and found the Apple under Ghandi's robes, by his hand. ID: PIECE OF EDEN 2

"_Well that at least makes sense,_" Shaun said. "_British empire and expansion and all that. India was our colony at one point and for quite a while_."

The passcode was entered and a video glimpse of what looked like scaffolding flashed across the screen.

Desmond shook his head. "This won't make sense till we get the whole thing, will it?"

"_Well,_" Rebecca said, "_that's all we can access in Florence for now._"

Desmond shrugged. "Good. Now for some exercise."

For the next two hours he ran around the roofs of Florence, falling into the mental rhythm of parkour and practicing his skills. He hadn't free-run in over a year, and he spent his time relearning his limits, remembering how to gauge distances, exercising his muscles in ways he hadn't done for a while. He didn't want to push his limits - not yet any rate. Walking before running, or in this case hopping before leaping and balancing before dashing. More than one landing ended up on the streets instead of the a chimney or roof that he wanted, and he groaned when his brain told him he should have broken an arm or leg and made himself roll out the muscles to prove otherwise. This ended with a vigorous stretching regiment.

"_Impressive,_" Lucy said after his regiment.

"I need to get back in shape somehow," Desmond said, "I'm ready to come out now."

His muscles felt mildly like he'd been exercising, but not enough that he didn't march right out of the loft and into the warehouse to start his usual run. Rebecca joined him after several laps, and the two pulled out a good two miles before stopping and stretching.

"I thought you'd go longer," she said in her rich contralto.

"I could," Desmond said, "But I don't know how the Animus affects my body for this. I felt the exercise when I came out even though I was just sitting in the machine. I don't want to work myself to exhaustion, that'll just delay everything." He stood up and rolled his hips a little, shaking out his limbs. "Once I know what I _can_ do, then I can push into what I can't, and turn it into can."

"Smart," she said, getting up as well and adjusting her headphones. "Come on, let's see if there's anything left to eat. Shaun's probably stolen all the tea, but there might be some leftovers and coffee."

Desmond rolled his eyes, "Coffee at night. Never understood that."

"To each their own."

The kitchen was empty when they entered it, but someone had left out a loaf of Italian bread. Desmond took it and a glass of water - mentally noting the irony of "bread and water" and nibbled on it while Rebecca raided the fridge before coming out with some kind of take-out pasta.

"I guess there's an Olive Garden near here?" he queried as she dished out a portion for herself.

The dark haired rocker turned with wide eyes. "You don't know?" she asked.

"Know what?"

"We don't need an 'Italian' restaurant. Every restaurant _here_ is Italian!"

Desmond blinked. "... We're in _Italy_?" he demanded.

"Yes!"

"But I was..." Desmond's mind skidded to a halt, trying to remember the blurry memories of his kidnapping. He _had_ been unconscious, and who knew how long that had been - apparently long enough to _fly to Europe_. Vidic and Lucy, even the security guards, and all spoken English - American, even - and he'd just assumed he was still in the States. To know that he was, in fact, so far from home... He shook his head, trying to assimilate the new information. "Italy. Right. I guess I should start talking like Mario or Luigi."

Rebecca laughed. "Best video game icons _ever_. And that's including Master Chief, Kratos, and Commander Shepard."

"Oh, a gamer, are we?"

"Of course!" Rebecca said. "I owned every gaming system out there, I even attended an E3 once, before..." she paused, her face falling slightly. "Before all _this_ happened," she finished, gesturing vaguely. Rebecca immediately perked, however, asking, "Were you much of a gamer?"

"Naw," he said. "Didn't even know about them till I ran away from the Farm. Had a Wii at my apartment, but I never really had time to play it."

"Well, now you're practically _living_ in one. I gotta say, working with the Animus makes hacking the PS3 look like middle school summer boredom."

The pair snorted before departing, Desmond skiffing a plate of Rebecca's leftovers and munching quickly and cleanly before going to his bed in the loft. His first priority was to make a "go-bag," a bag with some extra clothes, toiletries, and anything else he'd need if he had to run in a hurry. He wondered briefly about his go-bag in his apartment - virtually his whole life had been packed in that, but shook his head. There really was no going back, it seemed. He eventually found a lame one-strap courier bag, and filled it with precious little indeed. Desmond realized he had nothing but the clothes on his back - literally - and had to filch for everything that went inside. Wondering just what that meant in the story of his life, he went to bed.

The next morning dawned cloudy, but he resolutely got up and got a cup of coffee, feeling much more awake with its rich, dark scent wafting into his nose. He sighed in contentment before Lucy wandered in, taking a cup for herself - black, no additives - and gulping it in three massive swallows before pouring a second cup.

"Late night?" he asked.

The blond nodded. "Yeah. Catching up on all the team deployments. We lost so many..."

Desmond reached out to touch her shoulder, but she turned, oblivious, and marched into the loft. Desmond followed, sad that he couldn't comfort her the way she needed. Rebecca was already at the Animus, tinkering away at something, and Shaun breezed in soon after, cup of tea in his hand before taking a seat at his station, opening up two or three dusty tomes. Lucy slapped a few folders onto her own desk, labeled "Project Legacy" and opened a few as she waited for her computer to boot up, ruminating over her coffee before taking a more sedate sip. Shifting a little bit, Desmond realized there was literally nothing for him to do but get in the Animus, and so he rolled his shoulders and took his seat, Rebecca being much more gentle this time, and he thought about Ezio, his long trek to Monte-something or other with nothing but the clothes on his back. Lucy had picked this ancestor for a reason; he had to assume everything worked out for him.

He wai_ted to synch..._

* * *

They walked for _hours_. Claudia had become so tired that she stopped talking outright, no longer asking painful and difficult to answer questions, and just plodding along next to Maria, a hand on her shoulder to help guide her. Ezio, to be honest, was faring little better. It was a long journey to Tuscany, worse that it was done at night and even _worse_ with everything that had happened weighing on their tired minds.

He could still see his family swinging in the gallows, a twisted dream that refused to leave his vision.

He was exhausted. They all were.

But, at least, out of Firenze, they were safe. Nothing more could happen.

"_Buon giorno_ Ezio!"

Ezio groaned, to tired to pretend the sudden arrival of Vieri de' Pazzi didn't bother him. Instead he looked up, gazing further down the road and seeing his sometime rival standing with a flanking of Pazzi mercenaries. Even in the waning moonlight the young man looked smug and domineering, and Ezio had neither time nor inclination to deal with the petty upstart.

"Ezio!" Claudia hissed, and the former noble turned to see more mercenaries circling round from behind. _That_ made this encounter much more serious, and Ezio quickly motioned for his sister to move closer to him, the young girl helping their mother do the same. Both women were shivering in the cold damp air, and Ezio wanted to make this quick.

"What do you want, Vieri?" he demanded, exhausted and impatient.

"So many things!" Vieri drawled as if he had all the time in the world. "A larger _palazzo_, two new steeds, a prettier bride..." He drew his sword slowly, menacingly. "Oh and yes... your life!"

Two mercenaries marched forward with a gesture from Vieri, swords drawn. Ezio moved to draw his own sword and realized in a flare of panic that he had none. The sword his father had left him had been knocked out of his hands at the gallows. He was unarmed.

... He was unarmed!

Cursing, Ezio ducked under the first swing from the mercenary and sidestepped the second, wondering just _what_ he was going to do to get out of this. Had the young Pazzi truly hated him that much? Was Vieri truly so petty that Giovanni arresting his father made him so violent? The fight they had started on the bridge, the Ponte Vecchio, that was just harmless fun - never meant to be anything serious, when did Vieri become so bloodthirsty?

"What is the point of all this?" he demanded. "My family is dead, Vieri, _dead_!" and his eyes watered to admit it. "What more could you possibly want?"

"Oh," Vieri said, watching the decidedly one-sided fight. The mercenaries were obviously toying with Ezio, as he ducked and evaded the obvious sword strokes. Claudia watched on in horror, protectively standing in front of Maria. "Watching you Auditore swing from the gallows was certainly enjoyable - seeing your father brained was particularly satisfying." Claudia gasped and Ezio growled. "But I'd hardly call that true entertainment. After all, _you_ weren't up there with them."

"What have I ever done to you?" Ezio demanded, getting extremely lucky and grabbing the wrist of one of the mercenaries, twisting and then kicking the man in the gut and driving all air from the man's lungs. His victory was short lived, however, as the second mercenary stuck him from behind with the back of his blade. Ezio's shoulder erupted in pain, and he stumbled forward, clutching the new wound with his left hand and landing on one knee. He looked up glared at the Pazzi, only to see the cold gaze of hatred in return.

Vieri stared at him for a long time, before giving an oily smile.

"My condolences for the loss of your father and brothers!" he said in a patronizingly light tone. "What will happen now that there's no one left to help you? You've no one to cry to when things get difficult." The jibe struck too close to him, and Ezio surged to his feet, only to have the mercenary he had waylaid shove him back to the ground, Ezio landing roughly on his behind. Vieri smirked. "I have such _wonderful_ things in store for your mother and sister!"

"Ezio!"

Rage erupted in the young Florentine. "_You will not touch them!_" he bellowed, rising to his feet and barreling towards his family, ramming his good shoulder into one surprised mercenary before diving onto one that had been advancing on the two women. He landed a jaw-breaking punch to the man once, twice, before rising and getting in the way of a third. He was just one unarmed man, however, and someone managed to grab Claudia from behind, the fifteen-year-old shrieking and screaming, kicking her legs furiously in the air, somehow managing to elbow the man in the face, making him let go. Claudia landed in a huff and Ezio used the opportunity to land a vicious kick in the man's midsection - all that he could spare before shoving at a different man that was moving to haul the unresponsive Maria away. Claudia gave a great cry of rage and, in a fit of insanity, charged at one of the mercenaries. The man grabbed her wrists, but she bit at the grip to free her hands and used them to claw at his face, kicking him in the knee and then between his legs.

"I grow tired of this game," Vieri's voice filtered in from the brawl. "Finish him! And do not spare the women."

The man had no _honor_! Ezio and Claudia fell to either side of Maria, who was helpless to defend herself. Both were panting, and all of them were unarmed, nearly defenseless. If Ezio could just wrest a sword from one of them, they would stand a much better chance...!

They were completely surrounded, six mercenaries with drawn swords, several leering at Claudia and Maria, all of them reeking of bloodlust. They... they...

They were going to die.

Ezio had failed to protect his family.

Again.

_Again._

He had no sooner finished the thought, however, when all six mercenaries fell to the ground, like puppets with their strings cut.

"What sorcery is this?!" Vieri demanded, shocked at the sudden turn of events.

"Ha, ha, not sorcery, boy. Skill!" a voice said from somewhere. Ezio and Claudia shared a look, not knowing what was happening.

"Show yourself!"

"As you wish!" And from beyond the roadside came a slew of new mercenaries, rougher around the edges than any of Vieri's men, scruffy and meaner looking. Leading them was a thick, stocky man, and Ezio saw that one eye was blind in the lightening sky. Said man had two swords in his fist, one of which he tossed to the young Florentine. "Here," he said in a gruff voice, "use this."

Ezio caught the blade in midair, quickly taking a defensive stance in front of his mother and sister, content to defend them from anything, even this stranger if needs be. At this point, Ezio doubted even the gift from God that had dropped down on him.

Vieri, meanwhile, was furious that his easy murder was denied him. "Kill them!" he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. "Kill them all!"

"Do your own dirty work," the one-eyed man barked, marching at Vieri with the cloud of impending doom surrounding him. The young Pazzi's eyes widened, the color draining in his face visible even in the poor light, and the boy stumbled back before retreating to the horses, leaving his mercenaries to fight in his name. The one-eyed man barked out a laugh before turning, and soon everyone was engaged in combat.

Ezio's shoulder throbbed from the blow he had received earlier, making his sword work paltry at best. Lifting his arm was difficult, and the mercenary that had singled him out took merciless advantage of that, pressing Ezio back and back and _back_, but the young Florentine refused to let the man get between him and his family. One strike made Ezio's wrist twist to take the blade in both hands, and in doing so he heard a distinct sound, and realized the hidden blade of his father's bracer had extended. Unable to try and remember how to retract it, he moved to deflect another strike and then moved to punch the man in the gut. Instead, the blade sank deep into the other man's midsection, a gurgled cry of surprise filling Ezio's ears, before the Pazzi mercenary fell to the ground. The former noble startled, not expected it, and backed up in surprise.

Claudia clung to his back, her free arm wrapped around Maria. They watched the rest of the fight, what was left of it, as the one-eyed man's forces quickly butchered the Pazzi supporters. A few gruff orders had a pair of men disappeared to retrieve horses, other fetching shovels, and the one-eyed man approached the weary family.

Ezio, appraised the forces with a half trained eye. They were good fighters, to be sure, but better still they were disciplined. They sheathed their swords and axes and maces and all sense of bloodlust left the air. This man, whoever he was, had excellent control of his men, and had enough honor to help travelers on the road, a veritable Good Samaritan. Ezio accepted the providence and straightened, formally offering his sword back to the thickly built man, head bowed. "You have my thanks," he said formally with aristocratic vowels.

The man grinned in the dying night, false dawn lightening the sky. He waved the weapon off. "Keep the sword, Ezio."

The Florentine blinked, not expecting such familiarity. He gazed at the man again, the sturdy build, broad shoulders, one eye. A dim memory tried to flicker in his mind, but he couldn't grasp it. "Do I know you from somewhere?" he asked.

"Don't you recognize me?" the man said. "It's me, Mario!"

"... Uncle Mario?"

The recognition did not have time to fully register before Mario's great thick arms flew around Ezio, engulfing him in a bone-crushing hug so powerful Ezio felt himself be lifted up into the air.

"It's been too long _nipote_! Far too long!" Ezio gasped for breath, almost coughing before landing unexpectedly on his feet, leaving him floundering to balance as Mario moved on and grabbed Claudia's waist, lifting her up even higher into the air and spinning her around despite her startled squawk. "And Claudia! You've grown so beautiful!" He let her down with a bounce, before turning to the third member of the party. "And Maria," he said softly, taking her into a gentle embrace. She clutched her feather box tightly, saying nothing. He released an arm to loop it around his niece and he looked at his nephew with a solemn face.

"I heard what happened in Firenze..." he said in somber tones. "I gathered my men and we were riding to get you, I didn't realize you had already left the city, or I would have sent a letter. Still. Come. Let's get you all away from here."

The two mercenaries sent to retrieve horses came with the pack, and everyone mounted. A cart also appeared, and it was obvious whom it was for. Ezio helped his mother and sister onto it before hopping on himself. He moved to sit in front, next to the driver, but Mario, mounted, gestured him not to. "You're exhausted, _nipote_," he said gently, "And with good reason. Rest now, we're still hours from home. You can tell me what's happened later."

The permission was all Ezio needed, his voice was gruffer but Uncle Mario's tone was exactly the same as Giovanni's, and for the briefest of moments it was like his father was there, and Ezio could not deny the request. He sat back, Maria carefully nestled between his sister and him, and he closed his eyes, happy for the reprieve.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** In the midst of all the whining and wailing you'll hear from us over the course of these author's notes, the thing that will undoubtedly be the loudest, the longest, and the most annoying will be what you just read.

Desmond.

AC1 has the between-memory conversations. Brotherhood has conversations and emails, and even Revelations have little bits to pull from for Desmond. But in AC2 all you get it the sequence in the middle of the game. The amount of content-generation for this was mind-numbing - and not only was it content generation, it was content generation to try and make Desmond _interesting_. He isn't. At least not to us, and whenever one of us would get his sequences there was much groaning and foot dragging. We hope he came out okay, and this leads us to our second source of moaning:

Glyphs. Writing them is hard. In theory, this will be the only time we write it out fully, it would just get _tedious _otherwise, but the information in them is too interesting to ignore outright, so we'll see how they turn out. As the glyphs progress and the information dump they contain start getting bigger and bigger, the focus will be less on the puzzles (we hope) and more on the web of thoughts Sixteen is trying to show everyone. We can only hope they come out okay.

And a final note. Thanks to everyone who takes the time to review, we always feel a warm little glow whenever we see a notice in our inbox. Our gratitude is so great that we feel hesitant to even mention this, but there are one or two of you out there who seem to write the reviews in a rush. Words run together, there's not punctuation to discern thoughts or points, and there are many obvious spelling errors. If it's not too much trouble to those one or two reviewers, please read your review out lout to catch the most obvious glitches in writing. It will make our replies to you much more thoughtful!

Next chapter: the 16 month timeskip-training-thing. Yeah, _that's_ going to be fun to write... (wails at the third annoyance of the fic)


	6. Death of a Rival

**Part Six: Death of a Rival**

When he woke, the sun had been up for at least two hours, and the time spent riding in a stiff wooden cart had played utter _havoc_ with the injury to his shoulder. Ezio clutched it tightly, his breath hitching as he realized how badly he must have hurt it. Grunting, he tried to stretch and roll his shoulder, to keep it maneuverable, but it only offered more pain in retaliation. Frustrated, Ezio carefully got up, letting his mother and sister sleep, and moved to sit next to the driver.

Mario was with them, the Tuscany countryside spread out before them in gentle rolling hills and farmlands. "You can sleep more," he said.

"My shoulder won't let me," Ezio grunted, still exhausted.

His uncle nodded, running a hand through his dark hair. "We can have it looked at properly in Monteriggioni," he said. "In the meantime, tell me everything."

It was like opening a set of floodgates. Every detail poured out of Ezio, about the letters he delivered, Lorenzo de' Medici not in the city, the strange meetings, the assault on their house, Claudia and Maria, visiting his father at the Palazzo della Signoria, delivering the documents to Uberto, the gallows, all of it; even the gruesome fates of his father and brothers.

"They executed Father for treason. Frederico and Petruccio too. Then they came for me."

Mario, quiet up to now with a grim, stoic look on his face, turned to Ezio. "Do you know why?"

"I have no answers, Uncle..." he said, staring off to nothing. "I still can't believe they are gone..." He turned behind him, seeing Claudia and Maria, but somehow expecting Frederico and Petruccio sleeping with them, or Giovanni riding beside them.

"Don't worry," Mario said kindly, "We'll make sense of this."

"I wish I shared your optimism," Ezio muttered, before a thought struck him. He dug into his pouch, shifting through the meager coin he possessed and pulling out the papers he'd looted from Uberto. Mario eyed the parchment as Ezio opened it up, and the young Florentine was shocked to recognize his father's handwriting. This... this had been one of the papers he'd delivered to Uberto. His eyes watered, glancing over the parchment and reliving that night, and then that terrible morning, and the... Shaking his head, Ezio took a shaky breath and read it over. "... Only a list of names," he muttered, disappointed, bitter and sad. He handed them to Mario.

Mario studied it with much more scrutiny, before returning it. "Well make sense of it," he repeated. "Come on," he added, addressing his men, "keep up the pace!" He turned back to Ezio. "We're almost there. I think you will find much to like in Monteriggioni."

Ezio frowned, still tired, and rubbed his face. "I thought Monteriggioni was an enemy of Firenze..."

"For now," Mario said, shrugging his shoulders as if he were talking about the weather. "Next year it will be its friend. The year after its enemy again. And on and on. I cannot keep track, so I have stopped trying." He laughed, and several of his mercenaries laughed with him, apparently familiar with an old joke. Mario pointed out to the farmlands, peasants already up and tending the winter fields. "These are honest hardworking people," he said. "Our shops only carry simple goods, but they're well made and dependable. There is a chapel here, too; priest seems a nice enough fellow, but I've never been much of a believer."

Ezio snorted. A son of Florence had a casual relationship at best with God, and after watching the death of his family he doubted if he would ever fully subscribe to God again, not with allowing such an injustice to occur.

Mario seemed to sense the bitter thoughts, and quickly started talking again. "Did you know the Villa Auditore is almost two-hundred years old? It was built by my great-grandfather; a strange man, who carried all kinds of secrets. Keep your eyes open, and you might discover a few of them yourself..." But Ezio had tuned out, looking instead up the road to the telltale walls that indicated a city, towers jutting up and ominously guarding its territory.

...Or at least, it would have been ominous had the towers not been in such obvious need of repair.

Mario was already explaining. "With all the fighting that's been going on, the place has started to get a bit rough around the edges. I wish I could do something about it, but I haven't the time or the money to fix things up. Guess that's life, eh?" he said with a bright grin. Ezio just looked at him, and Mario gave an awkward cough. "Here we are," he said quickly. "Home sweet home."

They passed the stables, everyone dismounting and leaving the horses to the stablemaster. Claudia was awake, and helping Maria off the cart before the mercenaries broke up to other duties and disappeared. Past the gates was not a square of any kind, but rather a simple road, and Mario hooked a right, then a left past a tree, to what was obviously the main street. Several of the shops were boarded up, there were no signs, but even so early in the morning several people were out in worn but well cared for clothes, opening up small stands and places of business. The buildings were old, almost everything needed a fresh coat of pain, but what caught Ezio's eye was at the end of the thoroughfare. Steps rose up to a magnificent fountain, an elaborate relief carved out of the wall, and Ezio recognized the symbol as the one on his bracer and stylized belt. It was not the family crest, but obviously the symbol held great meaning. The detail work was astonishing, even at a distance, and as they approached it even Claudia, as exhausted as Ezio, stopped to stare at the magnificent piece of art. No water was in the fountain - a testament to the state of disrepair of the city, but in that fountain Ezio saw a hint of Florence, a hint of home.

"So? What do you think?" Mario asked.

"It's most impressive, Uncle." Claudia agreed.

They walked up the steps circling around the fountain to a higher tier of the city, revealing a stage that had clearly been re-appropriated to a training ring. Passing that, they went up another flight of steps to a massive villa. Almost every window of the ground floor was boarded, and the lawn even in December showed signs that it had been overgrown. The façade was chipped and in poor condition. The columns holding a small balcony over the main doors, however, were solid.

"She's seen better days, I suppose," Mario said, his gruff voice slightly embarrassed. "Believe me, I'd have her shining again... if only I had the time. Now," he said, "I'll fetch a doctor to look at that shoulder of yours, and Claudia and Maria, too. Once we've had you settled, we'll begin straight away."

The Auditore siblings blinked, glancing at each other.

"Begin?" Claudia asked.

"Begin what?" Ezio added.

Mario openly frowned, his milky eye gazing at them in confusion. "I thought you'd come here to train?"

Ezio rubbed his forehead. "No, Uncle," he explained. "I came here to escape Firenze - and I intend to take my family further still."

Mario openly gaped; hands limp at his sides in shock. "But what about your father? He'd want you to finish his work."

"What work?" Claudia asked, shifting her weight closer to Ezio. "Father was a banker."

Mario looked back and forth between the two siblings, his gaze suddenly narrow and calculating.

"... He did not tell you?" he asked.

Ezio gave a slight growl in frustration. "I have no idea what you are talking about..."

Mario bit out a bitter curse, rubbing his chin. "What were you _thinking,_ Giovanni?!" he muttered, almost to himself. Ezio and Claudia both exchanged a helpless look, uncertain what their uncle was talking about. "This complicates things..." Mario muttered, "Where to even begin..." The older man paced slightly, cursing on occasion, before looking at his nephew and niece. "We'll talk more later," he said finally. "First things first: I'll go fetch that doctor. It will give me time to think."

"But-" Ezio started.

"But that's that. We'll talk more later." Mario turned, Ezio noting the family crest on the back of his cloak, and marched back down the steps, still muttering to himself.

Ezio and Claudia looked at each other again, uncertainty hanging between them.

"Don't worry," the former noble said slowly, "we're only staying here for a little while." The reassurance fell flat even in his own ears.

"I don't like it here," Claudia said. "I want to go home."

"... I know."

Within twenty minutes Mario returned with the village doctor, a tall spindly man named Alfeo, his wax covered cloak falling to reach his ankles and his mask cracked along its beak. Mario ushered the party into one of the villa's many rooms, sitting Maria down at a settee before disappearing to order breakfast. The doctor looked to Ezio first, ordering him to undress in the clipped tones of a professional, and Ezio gingerly removed his hood, doublet, belts, and carefully tried to shrug off his linen shirt. Claudia gasped as it left his shoulders, and he turned to see her face go utterly white. "Is it that bad?" he asked, weary.

The soon-to-be sixteen-year-old shook her head, a hand covering her mouth. "No... It's just so _big_," she said. "A giant bruise. I did not think you had been hurt..."

"Hm," Alfeo said, prodding the injury with insensitive hands. Ezio grunted at the pain. "No breaks in the skin, no tears in the muscle. As the girl said, it is nothing more than a bruise. You are very lucky, _Messere_."

"It was not luck," Ezio said, bitter as the doctor pulled out some kind of salve to rub on the shoulder. "Vieri de' Pazzi was just toying with me." Numbness started to spread across his back, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Alfeo prescribed the salve for the next week, also pulling out the stitches on his long-forgotten lip before turning to Claudia, who hesitantly lifted her sleeves to reveal deeply bruised wrists. Ezio bit out a vulgar curse, rage filling his chest at his failure, and paced about the room while the doctor tended her, using the same salve as he had on Ezio. He pulled her into a tight embrace when she was finished; whispering apologies in her ear while the doctor examined Maria. His sister only nodded, clutching at his half buttoned doublet, and pressing her face into the crook of his neck, crying again as they both relived the previous night.

The doctor was still examining Maria when Uncle Mario arrived with a servant girl, tray filled with bread and honey to dip it in, and fresh milk. The stocky man spoke to the doctor briefly before showing him out, and returned to sit with his family. Breakfast was, at best, foggy, Ezio and Claudia both lost in their thoughts and exhaustion, Mario letting them have their moment as he sat next to Maria.

At length, a part of the events at last clicked with Ezio's mind, his lips pulling into a frown as he looked to his uncle.

"You said our father was more than just a banker?"

Tension built up in the room, Claudia looking up in not a little bit of weariness, subconsciously edging closer to her brother and glaring at everything.

Mario gave a measured gaze to them both, not the look of an uncle but of a hardened fighter, before leaning back and crossing his legs. "No use dancing around it, I suppose," he said, leveling his blind eye to them both. "Your father was an Assassin, Ezio."

"No," Claudia said. "That's not true."

"I told you before, my father was a paper pusher."

"He wasn't a murderer," his sister insisted. "He was a good man."

"No," Mario said, cutting through their protests in his gruff voice. "He was born and bred to kill. We both were, and we both have. But do not think for a moment he was just some petty murderer for hire. The work we do - we _did_," he corrected, his gaze drifting slightly before he refocused, "is much more complicated than that, and much more noble. You insult him by thinking anything less."

"And _you_ insult _him_ with these ludicrous accusations!" Claudia hissed, getting up and storming out of the room. Ezio stood as well, half-tempted to follow but unwilling to leave his mother alone.

Mario gave a great, weary sigh. "You've both been through a lot," he said, suddenly sounding tired. "I should not have dropped this on you so quickly. We will speak more of this later."

* * *

For their first three months at Monteriggioni, Ezio was hard pressed to be found away from any of his family. Indeed, that first week, both he and Claudia didn't even leave their mother's side. But both children were forced to learn the hard way that being with someone catatonic was not as easy as a romanticized novel might make it out to be. The first days were spent talking to Maria, praying she would simply snap out of it. They celebrated Claudia's birthday in her room, only instead of Claudia's favorites, all of Maria's favorites were served.

But Maria didn't respond. She would occasionally look to them, inspiring hope, then go back to staring at nothing. Maria went through the motions of living. She ate (though very little), got dressed, and brushed her hair (and just kept brushing and brushing until Ezio or Claudia stopped her). Mostly, though, she didn't even bother leaving her bed.

And the most depressing part for the Auditore siblings?

Boredom.

To both of their great shame, they were bored just sitting by her for hours with no response. At times, either one of them seemed on the brink of an explosive anger, ready to demand just _why_ she wouldn't respond, what more could they do, what more did Maria want or need from them in order to come back to them, we need you so why do you say and do _nothing_? But the other sibling would cool the rage before it engulfed them.

At other times, one or both of them would collapse into tears, begging and pleading for Maria to unlock her heart, to return it from wherever she had hidden it. Crying that losing Giovanni, Frederico, and Petruccio was almost easier than having Maria physically there but not responding to anything.

Once a week, Mario did everything short of bodily evicting them. He took up watching over his sister-in-law, something neither Ezio nor Claudia trusted with _anyone_ lightly, and told the siblings to go out, take a break, explore the town. Neither really appreciated this. Ezio had only ever visited Mario once, shortly after Claudia was born, and didn't know if he had a good measure of the man. But Ezio was becoming well acquainted with grief, and he saw grief in Mario over the loss of Giovanni.

Ezio and Claudia would wander the villa, to out of it for various reasons, exploring and meandered the town. In an effort to keep occupied, but avoid the obvious conversation points, they discussed how the town should be improved. They fell into old bickering patterns about whether the well was the first thing to fix or the mines. It depressed them both that it was such a relief to be away from their mother.

One day, in March, Mario finally pulled Ezio aside for a serious talk. The weather was slowly starting to warm so his uncle brought him out for a ride amongst the fields that were being planted.

"Ezio, this cannot continue."

The grieving Florentine reined his horse and looked down. He no longer bore any doubts about Mario, but Ezio still considered himself head of his family. His uncle could advise, offer suggestions, but Ezio did not wish to give control of what remained of his family to anyone.

That didn't mean he wouldn't listen.

"I know," he said quietly. "Mother is still so ill. She can't even get out of bed anymore. Alfeo says that it's not her body that ails, but her heart."

"And will you stay here for however long it takes to see her well?"

Ezio sighed. "We will stay until she's well enough for travel." He shook his head. "_Mi dispace, Zio_, but we will be safer away from Italia."

Mario looked at him for a long time, his gaze measuring. "I disagree, _nipote_. You will always be safe here."

Ezio shook his head again. "I can't be certain of that. So much needs repair here. I doubt it would take long for catapults to bring down the walls."

Mario gave a quiet laugh. "We have indeed fallen into disrepair." He nudged his horse and Ezio followed. "Then if I can't give you hospitality then how about lessons?"

"Lessons?"

"Yes. I keep some mercenaries here as a precaution." Mario gave a small laugh. "My crumbling walls as you put it. You know how to duel, not how to fight. If I can't keep you safe here, let me give you the tools to be safe when you are _away_ from here."

"... I will think on it."

"That's all I ask. I'll speak to Ulderico. Just talk to him and he'll get you started."

"You sound as if you won't be here."

Mario let out a long deep sigh. "Life, unfortunately, must go on. I've been away from my duties for too long. I need to travel to Roma about... some business."

For the first time in months, Ezio's curiosity perked, but he squashed it. He was head of the family; he couldn't follow any whim anymore.

Ezio discussed Mario's proposal with Claudia thoroughly, looking at all the pros and cons since training to fight, as Ezio knew from his sword work, took time. It would delay their leaving by a year, they estimated, at least.

But looking at Maria, the choice, ultimately, wasn't a choice.

Claudia did have one condition. She demanded to learn combat as well.

Given what had happened when they arrived, Ezio couldn't really begrudge her that.

The following day, Ezio sought out Ulderico to the tiny barracks in town. Lessons were set for the mornings for Ezio and the afternoon for Claudia. That way one of them remained with Maria.

The change in routine almost brought a change in life for the Auditore siblings. Claudia started to demand the accounting books, determined to at least pay back Mario by leaving the villa in a better state than they arrived.

Ezio, searching for something to read, stumbled upon some journals of his father. He almost broke down crying, seeing his father's elegant scripting once more, but instead just looked at it sadly. The curiosity Mario had sparked still festered, and, finally, Ezio started to poke around, read the journals, put pieces together.

At first, it made no sense. Ezio had always known his father to be a banker, and a very good one at that. It was why Lorenzo de' Medici would work with him. Giovanni's connection in the Germanic mountains was indispensable, right?

But no, the more Ezio read, the more he was forced to come to grips with the fact that his father... had been an Assassin.

He left his father's journals for almost two months when he made that realization.

By then, spring had crawled by and Maria was... better wasn't the right word. She was no longer confined to bed, but she was still unresponsive. Claudia was growling at Mario's lack of proper financing and Ezio sat down with her to go over the accounts rather than read the journals. Then he started growling with Claudia as he realized just what a state the Auditore Villa, and Monteriggioni in general, was in. It had lead to a heated dinner conversation with Mario when he returned, where both Ezio and Claudia took him to task for his bookkeeping, taxing, spending, economics, and all around financing.

Mario couldn't help but laugh. "Giovanni really did raise you to be bankers!"

"Hopeless!" Claudia grunted.

Still laughing, Mario had asked if they had any suggestions.

Ezio and Claudia looked to one another, then they _both_ grinned. "Well, you asked for it," Ezio said as they both started laying out what it would take to get more people in town to increase the tax revenue, and to finally get the money to properly fix up both the town and the villa. Mario still chuckled until he realized that they were dead serious.

"_Va bene_!_ Va bene_! I'll look into it."

"No," Ezio said firmly, Claudia nodding emphatically beside him. "You'll do it."

And, for once, Maria offered a small smile.

As summer continued to get hotter and hotter, the Auditore were surprised when a new servant arrived.

"Annetta!" Claudia cried out, diving into their maid's arms. "I thought we'd never see you again!"

"It is good to see you," Ezio smiled as well. "How is your sister faring?"

Annetta smiled warmly at them both. "I couldn't just let you leave," she answered. "Paola is well, business always does well this time of year. Something about customers enjoying relieving stress or some such."

And, for the first time in the half-year since the family arrived, Ezio felt like there was finally _someone_ he trusted outside of his family to leave with Maria, freeing up more time for both him and Claudia.

Though that thought left them feeling guilty again.

Ezio visited the town regularly, both to keep practicing the climbing skills Frederico had taught him that seemed so useful in his escape from Florence. The citizens were startled at first, not knowing what to make of it.

"Must be a drunken wager or something..."

"Is that entertainment? He's not very good..."

"He must be late... and _she_ must be beautiful..."

"Life expectancy: about five more minutes..."

They took it as simply an eccentric noble until, one day, Ezio was simply in the streets, having seen Alfeo about how Maria was doing when there was a scream above him. A housewife who had been hanging flowers outside her window, overbalanced and started to tumble. Ezio hadn't even stopped to think, he'd simply took off running, hopping a crate to a beam, to a lamp to a lattice, then climbed up the façade of the building, reaching up and supporting the woman as she hung from the sill and helped her climb back into the room.

After that, the townsfolk had no more issues with him randomly jogging around rooftops to stay in shape.

Mario had nodded approvingly at the story while Claudia shrieked about how dangerous that was and what would she have done if he'd died! But that was her concern screaming, something Ezio understood all too well, so he hugged her and held her close.

The lessons with the Ulderico were... interesting to say the least. All those involved praised Ezio highly on his sword-work. It was clear that he had spent long hours learning dueling and could be incredibly deadly with a blade. Indeed, even working with practice wands often left whoever Ezio was facing incredibly bruised and heading down to see Alfeo for more salve to relieve the aches they'd be feeling.

But Ulderico was the first to point out that an enemy would very rarely fight fair. Ezio always expected an honorable duel and Ulderico took it as his personal mission to remove that fanciful idea. It wasn't until he was certain that Ezio could handle anything with a sword that he started to show Ezio different weapons and how to take the stances and basics he already knew, and how to adapt them.

Any training Ulderico put Ezio or Claudia through, however, was suspended whenever Mario was home. Ezio's uncle insisted on doing personal training with his _nipote_, something he insisted that Claudia watch, and showed the forms and moves of how to fight with a hidden blade.

"There may come a time," Mario would say, "that you have no other weapons. I've seen how you always wear that bracer, Ezio. If you are ever disarmed, or caught in bed, or anything like that, you _will_ be able to live with only that blade."

Such words, such conviction in using a tool of an assassin, made Ezio wonder about his father's journals. He'd been reading them for months, looking at his father and even his mother anew. He would ask Maria questions about Assassins, since it was clear she knew of them, But she never answered. Claudia didn't like such questions, and Ezio knew it was a topic to Not Be Discussed.

It was a year after their arrival, shortly after Claudia's seventeenth birthday, that the talk of Giovanni's work as an Assassin finally came up again.

"You can swing a sword, to be sure," Mario said outside the training ring. "But offense will not carry a battle. You must survive long enough to strike. I will teach you how to dodge."

His trainer started showing the proper footwork for dodging, something Ezio had been half doing and now started to improve with.

"You said my father was more than just a banker?" Ezio panted. The journals were swirling in his mind. He couldn't ask Maria about it, Annetta seemed to know little, but was hesitant to say anything. Claudia wouldn't hear of it, so Ezio had no one else to ask.

He had to know.

"He was an Assassin, _nipote_," Mario replied. "Sworn enemy of the Templars. We seek knowledge, they seek to control." His uncle nodded at Ezio's footwork. "_Bene_. Now you'll learn how to turn enemy attacks to your advantage."

"All this talk of Assassins and Templars. It reeks of fantasy," Ezio grunted, ducking under a lance and spinning to get in range with his sword.

"Like something from an old parchment covered with arcane writing, perhaps?" Mario smiled.

"... How did you know?" Ezio panted, dropping his wand and relaxing his guard.

"You have your father's blade," Mario replied seriously, his eyes glancing down to the bracer. "I figured you'd have the Codex page he was holding as well. And don't think I haven't seen you picking apart my library. I trust you believe me now?"

Ezio wiped sweat from his brow, despite the cold weather. "Yes. My father was... an Assassin. But why the need for such secrecy?" There was so much he didn't understand...

"Are you familiar with the Templars? One of several Knightly orders formed during the Crusades," Mario explained, not even winded. "History teaches they were disbanded nearly two hundred years ago in France. Only they weren't. Merely pushed underground where they continued their nefarious work."

"What _work_?"

Mario looked up to the gray skies, looking at the clouds in the distance that promised rain. "We, as Assassins, believe that order is brought about by law. Not by following God or whatever fanatics are out there. But by people coming together, talking about their differences, realizing their similarities, and agreeing on what is right." Mario shook his head. "The Templars are the opposite. They agree that law, order, is not brought about by God, but rather, they would impose their beliefs on all and hear no rebuttals."

"But, that's just the _opposite_ of the Republic of Florence! Of all the little duchies here in Italia. We have councils, committees, it's the only way for all to get anything done-"

"And that is why the Templars seek to undermine us," Mario said, turning his half blind gaze to Ezio once again. "They want a dictatorship. We don't let them have one. We don't go out and kill whomever we please, Ezio. Your father didn't. I don't. Not at all. We support people who allow free ideas, seek knowledge, preach peace through diplomacy..."

Ezio still didn't understand. His uncle spoke like murder was a duty. A duty to some higher calling he just didn't understand...

"You're making fine progress, Ezio!" Mario switched topics back to training. "Tomorrow I'm going to teach you how to position yourself in battle. Where you stand and how you move can make all the difference."

Once spring came around again, Ulderico came to practice with a feral smile. "You're going to need armor, boy," he said gruffly, manic grin widening. "Today, we start using naked steel for your training. Consider today a day off. Go outfit yourself properly."

Ezio gaped at the prospect, but otherwise offered his own grin.

His purse was still sparse. The money he'd brought with him from Florence was all he had, though he knew Mario would donate if he ever thought Ezio in need. This was almost amusing, given that both Ezio and Claudia knew he couldn't really afford such generosities when so much _other_ work needed to be done. The new taxations that he and Claudia set up was starting to see an increase in income, but didn't change the fact that without more people the increase would remain small. Most of the florins came in and went to a savings that both he and Claudia had only one goal in mind for: either fixing the well or reopening the mines. That would bring in more people, thus giving more people to tax and more money for the repairs needed.

That wouldn't happen now. So Ezio always made sure he used his coin miserly. He and Claudia were still planning to take Maria out of Italia, likely to Spain, so any florins he spent he made sure to do so sparingly.

Thus, when he arrived at the blacksmith, Santino, Ezio had a good idea on how to get what he wanted at a bargain.

Santino was good-natured, if facing troubles. "We have the best armor in all Italy... Has anyone seen my assistant?"

Ezio chuckled. "I don't know of an assistant, but I would like to see your armor."

"Ah! _Ser_ Ezio, come in, come in! Rumors have abounded of your training and I've wondered when you'd come by!"

"_Grazie_. Can you show me what you have?"

"_Si_! It will be my pleasure!"

Santino had several displays of very nice armor, from steel platework to interlocked chainmail. Most of it was plain, lacking any kind of artistic flare, but given the mercenaries that went through with _Zio_ Mario, it wasn't a surprise that they'd simply want something practical and cheap. Ezio eyed it all with a critical eye. Santino continued to extol the virtues of each piece, emphasizing the more expensive pieces. From there the blacksmith took Ezio through racks and racks of swords and daggers and bludgeons and halberds. Ezio did note that there was good work, after all his time with the mercenaries and the training, he couldn't help but admire the pieces that were particularly good.

However...

"Let's test your work," Ezio said agreeably. "Clear a table; lay out your armors, let's see what they can withstand."

"I assure you, they can handle anything a mercenary can throw at them," Santino replied with a slightly nervous smile.

Ezio raised his eyebrow.

With the smallest of sighs, Santino complied, clearing off a table and laying out a sample of each piece of armor, from the leather all the way to his most expensive metal works. Ezio took a bludgeon, its heavy-weighted end no longer as daunting as before he'd started training over a year ago. With a quick test swing to find the balance, Ezio proceeded to lay as hard a blow as he could on each piece of armor.

The metal works, every one of them, dented. The leather held well.

"My apologies, _Ser_ Ezio," Santino said quietly. "Without my assistant, I often have to do much myself and I get... tired."

"I understand," Ezio agreed. "When times are tight, we pinch out all we can. I'll take the leather and give you some extra to cover some of the cost for this. At least you can melt the metals down and reuse them."

Santino nodded. "If only my assistant wasn't always off fornicating."

Ezio chuckled sadly. "That reminds me of Frederico..." He shook his head. "You do good work, Santino. I can see it. You just aren't consistent because you lack good help."

"Don't worry, _Ser_ Ezio. If ever you order something from me, I promise I'll take my time on it."

"Not too much time, I hope," Ezio replied with a warm grin.

"_Grazie_," Santino grinned as well.

"And if you need better ore, contact this person in Florence," Ezio scribbled a name down. "He'll give good ore at a fair price."

"You are as generous as your uncle."

Now that he had some leather armor, training became much more intense. Claudia was also proceeding well, focused on a dagger as her main weapon that could be hidden in her skirts. Together, the two started discussing when would be a good time to leave.

As winter started to roll in again, Ezio spent even more time down in the town. This time, however, to brush up and focus on the task of blending in as Paola had taught him. Since coming to hide in Monteriggioni, he'd usually practiced the skill once in a while, but it had diminished as he'd focused on fighting and relaxing now that they were safe for a while. But with departure on the horizon, he was reacquainting himself with hiding in crowds and, to some degree, teaching it to Claudia as well, who wasn't the quick study he was. Ezio hoped that if the two of them could hide in crowds, they'd be less likely to be spotted by the Pazzi or anyone else. By this time, one would hope the scandal would have diminished, but Ezio didn't dare take any chances.

This didn't stop Ezio from his continued study of his father's journals.

There was something there, some ethereal quality that just kept pulling him back, going over the same passages, going over the thoughts and feelings of a man Ezio wondered if he ever really knew. It sounded like the same Giovanni, but what Giovanni spoke of was so foreign. The business trips that he took, ones that Ezio always thought were related to banking and visiting other cities to establish a presence or make a contact, were all about finding some Templar or some misguided soul.

Ezio kept pouring over the journals, wondering what it was he was missing, what it was he wasn't seeing.

* * *

April arrived with warming temperatures. Ezio and Claudia had booked passage to Spain and would be leaving in a few days time. In a way it was sad to leave the town. Ezio had known it would be a temporary stay, but it had been... good... to find such a nice place to recoup after all their losses. Maria was well enough to eat and dress herself, though she had no interest in anything than quietly praying in front of the feather box Petruccio had.

It was disheartening. Claudia, in particular, seemed to feel the strain.

"She spends all day and night in front of those feathers Petruccio used to collect. She can't let him go. I don' t know what to do."

Ezio would hold her tight in response. "Don't worry. She'll come back to us, I know it."

But he put aside such worries for the moment. Mario himself was across from Ezio in the training ring, and they were ready to spar. They stood there, both at the ready, before each charged forward to strike, naked steel ringing against naked steel. Ezio would miss Monteriggioni. Maybe, once they were settled somewhere safe in Spain, they could arrange to visit after rumors and scandals had truly passed...

Mario kicked forward, breaking Ezio's footwork and the young Florentine fell away, giving himself room to get back on his feet and recover, keeping his guard tight as Mario charged, slashing and thrusting. Ezio swung down under a swing, spinning around, but Mario danced away with more grace than his stocky figure would imply. They paused, measuring each other. His uncle feigned left then slashed right and Ezio countered, spying the opening to kick out his legs, breaking _Mario's_ footwork this time. And as Mario tumbled, Ezio kicked the sword away in one step as the other came down on his uncle's chest, sword at the old man's neck.

"Do you say 'Uncle'?" Ezio grinned.

"Well done, _nipote_," Mario grinned as his nephew helped him up. "You've really come into your own."

"Thank you, Uncle, for all that you have given me."

"You're family!" Mario replied expansively with a grin. "Such is my duty and desire!"

"I'm glad you had me stay," Ezio replied sincerely, not liking how his next words would be received.

"Good! You've reconsidered leaving!" And Mario's smile just blossomed further.

Ezio looked away. "... We sail for Spain in three days."

"But _nipote_," Mario protested. "I've given you these skills that you might be better prepared to strike against our enemies..."

"And if they find me, I will," he replied with cold certainty.

"You want to leave, Ezio?" Mario said in growing anger. "To throw away everything your father fought and died for? To deny your heritage? Fine!" he spat. "So be it. _Arrivederci e buona fortuna_!" Then he stalked away.

"Uncle, wait!" Ezio called, struggling out of his practice gear. But Mario was already long gone with a speed unexpected of his age. "Why is he so upset?" Ezio turned to Ulderico, the only one left to explain.

Ulderico looked long and hard at Ezio, frowning severely into his thick beard. "How can he not be?" he said grimly. "Vieri's been harassing us ever since you first arrived. To be expected, I suppose, given his heritage..."

Ezio blinked. "What? But _Zio_ Mario drove Vieri back the night we arrived."

Ulderico shook his head. "Your belief in people will be your undoing," he said quietly. "Would you have truly left that _Gonfalonieri_ alone, even if you couldn't access him?"

Oh.

... _Oh_.

Damn it.

"Uncle!"

Ezio finally shrugged off his training gear, darting into the house in a huff. "Uncle!" he called out. He stalked into the gallery, knowing Mario would sometimes reflect there; he checked the office to find it empty; he moved upstairs, calling for his uncle enough that Claudia came out to see what was the matter. "Where is everyone?" he asked. He had really taken that long to take off his armor? Ridiculous!

But Claudia didn't know what was going on, and he was back downstairs, searching the rooms of the villa. He checked the back garden, barren and shriveled, and then back out to the front courtyard. Frustrated and cursing, he made a beeline back to the dilapidated barracks to hunt down Ulderico. "You know where _Zio_ Mario is," he said, "Tell me."

Ulderico gave another long, measured glare, but Ezio held firm.

"They ride for San Gimignano to slay that snake, Vieri."

Damn it! _Damn it!_ Mario would deal with Ezio's childhood rival and completely remove responsibility from him! Vieri was _Ezio's_ problem; they had been rivals since their teen years, Ezio's flirtation always stole girls away from the other boy - even Cristina. Vieri's hatred proved to run very deep indeed, given that he had hunted Ezio down in the dead of night during their escape from Florence, and deeper still for spending the last_ year and a season_ harassing Mario's lands in order to get at him. Ezio was head of the house now, that meant he had to take _all_ responsibilities, and he could not deny his culpability in this particular affair.

He cursed. "I wish to join them," he said in a steel voice.

Ulderico smiled at the eighteen-year-old. "You'll find what you need at the stables."

* * *

Even with a horse already saddled and waiting, it took an hour for Ezio to throw some supplies into a sack, tell his sister what had happened, grab a sword from the armory and strap on his leather armor and _then_ ride off to Tuscany. Late a start as he had, it took the rest of the day to make the ride; and it was sunset when he finally cleared the last of the gently rolling countryside and saw the walls of the city and its great towers. He and his horse were panting when he reigned in. Now that he was here, how was he going to find his uncle?

Moving down the lazily curved lane, Ezio looked to the expanse of farmlands, trying to think. Mario would not have gone to take care of this alone, he would have taken a strong contingent of Monteriggioni's mercenaries, that implied that there would be many horses and-

There, off the road at a peasant villa that looked as dilapidated as Monteriggioni, he saw a cluster of horses. He trotted up to the herd, pulling his breath back into control, and dismounted before his steed had completely stopped. He tied the reigns loosely and circled around the half broken stonewall.

Several swords met his throat and he froze mid-step, gulping.

"Ezio?" Mario, one of the men ready to kill, immediately lowered his sword. "What are you doing here?" The rest of the mercenaries similarly sheathed their swords.

"Taking responsibility," Ezio explained. "Vieri troubles you because of me." And he refused to let this particular debt slide.

Mario studied Ezio, his half blind gaze narrow as he assessed Ezio's conviction. Then he shrugged his shoulders and waved Ezio off. "Vieri troubles us because he is a Templar and we are Assassins."

Vieri was...? Was _that_ why he hated Ezio so? He shook his head. It didn't matter. "Either way," he said, "I wish to help."

After a significant pause, Mario smiled. "_Va bene_!" he said, clapping his hands together. "Then listen close..." He slapped Ezio on the shoulder before leading him further into the small yard, the other mercenaries following suit. A table had been set up with a lantern, and everyone circled around it and the map that it lit. Ezio's eyes widened slightly; a map was a rare commodity. Mario pulled out some charcoal and explained. "First we must find a way inside the city. It seems Vieri expects us: he has sealed the gates, and has sent his men to guard them. Fortunately for us the city is larger than his host. The southern gate suffers for it." Mario marked off locations of guards and patrols, Ezio marveling at the level of detail as he outlined what his plan was. He issued orders to each individual mercenary - thirty total - and outlined a plan to incapacitate, take down, or otherwise distract over a hundred of Vieri's men _plus_ the city guards. Threads ranged from throwing money out into the streets (which made the internal banker in Ezio wince), hiring out courtesans and thieves, starting fights, even setting fire to a stable by one of the city gates, all to throw the city into confusion and allow Mario and his host to do as they pleased.

All of it, however, hinged on getting into the city.

"Alright Ezio," Mario said, at last giving orders to his nephew. "Here's how it's going to work: My men and I will distract the guards at the southern gate. Once we've engaged them, get yourself over the wall, and find a way to open the gate. Do you understand?"

Ezio blinked, realizing that Mario had just pinned the entire success of the campaign on him. His eyes hardened, his back straightening, and he nodded. "_Si, Zio._"

"_Bene_. Take these throwing knives; use them to dispatch archers. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready when you are."

"Then let us begin."

The men exited the rotting farmstead and darted over the hills to the walls of the city. Mario's mercenaries massed around the southern gate, and Ezio departed from the crowd to circle around the city wall. How was he going to get inside? Scale the wall? The other gates were obviously not an option; Mario's depiction of guard placement had proven that. He began to worry that he would let his uncle down, he didn't know how to get up a _city wall_, but then grace smiled down on him. Several hundred meters up, beyond the curve of the wall, was an old, ruined cart lay slightly off the road. The nineteen-year-old thought nothing of it at first, almost passed it by until he looked up to the city wall and saw that that top of the wall was in a state of disrepair. So Monteriggioni wasn't the only city low on funds...! Even then, Ezio would have moved on to find a way to scale the wall, but the combination of the broken cart and low dip in the wall made him stop.

Upon closer examination, Ezio saw no broken earth to show how the cart had crashed, no overgrowth to make one think the wagon had been there for a long time. It had been _placed_ there, and so conveniently under the part of the wall under disrepair.

This had been part of Mario's plan. Then, why had he not explained it to Ezio?

... This had been a test. Mario wanted to see how Ezio could do under real pressure instead of practice - and he had devised this in the few minutes it had taken to realize that Ezio was volunteering to join the campaign. It was like the Florentine had learned a new facet of his uncle; the older noble had rarely been in the villa, always out in the countryside with his mercenaries doing something. Only now did Ezio realize just what a quick and sharp mind his uncle had, a keen strategist lay hidden under that laidback exterior, and the ability to make snap decisions of a leader.

Ezio found a new respect for his uncle, and he quickly hopped up the wagon and leapt up to the first handhold he saw with determination not to fail the man.

There seemed to be no guards patrolling along the wall, but Ezio wasn't about to assume it was safe for him to stay there. The ramparts were apparently in the middle of repairs; he saw scaffolding on the other side of the wall and signs of fresh mortar and brickwork. Beyond the wall was a roof where an archer was pacing about, rubbing his arms in the cool night air. Ezio pulled out one of the throwing knives his uncle had given him, he had not practiced with the small weapons nearly as much as he had with the sword or his hidden blade, but his eyes were sharp, and the man gave a grunt Ezio could only barely hear at his distance before crumpling down to the tiles.

He hopped from the scaffolding to the roof as a cloud passed over the rising moon, making him invisible, and when the skies cleared again he could see two other archers on the roofs, glaring down at the square in front of the city gates. Ezio could hear Mario and his men fighting beyond them, and the noise made his boots almost silent as he crept close and threw a knife at the second guard. The third was across the square; Ezio could not hope to jump the hundred-foot gap, and so instead he backtracked slightly and lowered himself to the ground. He edged along the city wall, sticking to the shadows and moving when the moon was covered, before making it into the square. Crouched by the well, he waited until he saw the guard's silhouette, and threw his knife. The man plunged down the tiles and to the earth with a disturbing thud.

Satisfied, he made his way to the lever control of the gate and began cranking.

"Well done Ezio," Mario said, his sword bloody and a bright smile on his face. "We're in!"

"Did I pass your test?" the young Florentine asked.

Mario blinked, surprise coloring his face, before giving a great laugh and clapping Ezio's shoulder. "More than I thought for realizing it was a test. Well done, Ezio, well done." He turned to the mercenaries. "You know what your jobs are. With luck, I'll find Vieri before things get too difficult. If they do, you know where to go. _Nipote_, I want you to go with this group, keep the guards distracted on the main road, and we'll see if you can fight better than the night I found you."

"_Va bene_."

Everyone disappeared to their tasks. Ezio and his four mercenaries waited. Their job was to take care of the guards on the central road of San Gimignano, but first the other groups had to thin the ranks with their other distractions. Once everyone could smell smoke from the stable fire, the five marched down the road, already spying a pair of guards milling about.

"Do you think they'll need us for the fire?"

"I don't know. I hope not."

"The Pazzi guards don't seem to be much good tonight."

"No, not really."

"What's that boy Vieri up to now?"

"No one knows. But something has him on edge. How else to explain all the patrols? It's like he knew something was going to happen tonight."

"Staging something to make himself look good? Why does his father allow it?"

"They're Florentines. _Everything_ is loose there, including parenting."

Ezio felt no small amount of insult at that, and glancing at the mercenaries he saw that they were close enough to fight. With a nod, they all charged, and Ezio sought out the man who had insulted Florentines, engaging him in combat and marveling at how _easy_ it was to deflect the sword strikes and spin around the blade to sink his own into the offender. "Florentines are only 'loose' with their love," he muttered to the man as he fell, "And that is one emotion that isn't shared nearly enough."

Several more guards had joined the fray, however, and time for talk quickly disappeared as Ezio and the four mercenaries waded through the brawl.

Ezio decided, when all was said and done, that he would thank his teacher Ulderico for his brutal training. Fighting seemed easy after _him_, and Ezio realized at last the critical difference between dueling and fighting. Dueling was a one-on-one, honorable affair that at best lasted ten minutes as the two combatants battled. _Fights_, however, were more often than naught one-on-many, and everyone was fighting for a blow, often hitting each other as well as the opponent; it was chaos, brutal, frenetic, and the man who planned around that was the one who came on out on top. Ezio circled around the flurry of swords, biding his time and evading every blow that tried to strike him, until he saw one frustrated guard make a mistake, and Ezio took immediate advantage; thrusting his sword powerfully into the man's midsection before yanking it out and landing a second (extraneous) blow into the shoulder, nearly cleaving the collar bone. It was a showy move that made several of the guards begin to fear the outcome of the fight.

Ezio followed up with circling the blade away of a second guard, spinning behind and shoving his sword up, breaking the man's arm before slashing into the side, blood and organ fluid spilling everywhere. His third guard tried to charge him from behind, but Ezio heard it and sidestepped, letting the man pass before he stabbed him in the back without a second thought.

The other mercenaries had finished their targets, and they cheered in a job well done. Ezio looked around the carnage they had created. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should feel remorse. These men were city guards, not Pazzi followers. But time for regret would have to come later, and they continued up the steps of the main street, making their way up the tiered steps to the Santa Maria Assunta.

The Santa Maria Assunta was constructed in the twelfth century, but had been expanded just a decade ago. The church was noted for its incredibly plain walls and the shocking fact that, in the city of towers, it had no tower. That error was corrected, it seemed, with the Palazzo Comunale, the city's town hall stood virtually next to the church and more than made up for it with the Torre Grossa, the tallest of the city's massive towers and thrust up into the sky. As the piazza in front of the church spread out before him, Ezio saw that it was _filled_ with Pazzi guards and Mario's men.

"Ezio!" One of them said upon spying the young Florentine. "Your uncle is under attack and needs help. Go to him!"

Ezio needed no other orders, the very idea of letting his uncle die as his father and brothers had made Ezio a man possessed, and the nineteen-year-old flew through the throng of fighters, running his sword through any who got in his way. With every stab and thrust and slash his eyes scanned the throng for his uncle, heedless of blood and fluid that spattered everywhere and puddled in the plaza.

"Ah!" a gruff, energetic voice said. "_Nipote_, there you are!"

"Uncle!" Ezio cried out, savagely cutting down the man Mario was fighting. "Are you alright?"

"Of course, _nipote_, I'm offended you think a minor squabble like this would be dangerous to me." He slapped a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Though I will admit I'm touched you were so concerned."

Ezio released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, and Mario squeezed his shoulder. "Come," he said. "My men can finish with these rabble. We'll rout out that snake and see that justice is served."

Too relieved for words, Ezio nodded. The two Auditore broke away from the fight, disappearing into the narrow streets and the massive shadows of the many towers. Once Mario was certain they were not followed, they took to the roofs, Ezio surprised that his uncle, forty-four, still had the strength and stamina to haul his thick body up to the tiled roofs. Mario caught the look and offered a grunt of a laugh and, to prove a point, darted ahead of Ezio and traversed a narrow archway spanning a street without even swaying.

The moon was quite high in the sky, now. The clouds had passed**,** so there was no break in vision, and Ezio followed his uncle, wondering how the older Auditore knew where he was going. As they approached the city wall, Mario turned north, slowing down slightly, casting his gaze about.

"There," he whispered, pointing down. Below were a group of men, surrounded by guards at one of the city gates. The two lowered themselves to their bellies, opening their ears and strained to listen to the conversation.

"It's settled," said a hooded man with a distinct Spanish accent. "Vieri, you will remain here to coordinate the mercenaries. Francesco will organize our forces in the city, and send word when it is time to strike. Jacopo, your job is to calm the citizens once the deed is done."

Ezio blinked, realizing the other three men, Vieri, Francesco, and Jacopo, were all Pazzi. He looked to Mario, confused, but the older man only mouthed the word "Templar" before going back to listening with intense focus. Ezio remembered what his uncle had said at the beginning of this campaign, that Vieri de' Pazzi was a Templar. Were _all_ the Pazzi Templars? Was that man, the Spaniard, a Templar? The young Florentine's mind whirled as he thought of his father's journals and letters. Oh, academically he had accepted his father an Assassin, the fight with the Templar Order, the conspiracy of secrecy. But now he was watching the end of a clandestine meeting, _in real life_, of a collection of Templars as they planned... something... Ezio saw for the first time that there were things larger than himself out there, larger than his own life. The thought made him uncomfortable, he shifted his hips slightly, a tile digging into his thigh. He did not like how this revelation was making him feel.

Also, what were they planning? What city was the "deed" to be done? Florence? That seemed most obvious, but what? These were men who could organize a conspiracy to hang three innocent people, just how far did their reach stretch?

_"At least now we see how far your reach extends - which is to say - nowhere at all. It proves a valuable lesson for me and my allies."_

... Uberto Alberti, the _Gonfaloniere_ responsible for his family's death, had he been a part of this, too?

Ezio shook his head, uncertain what it all meant.

Vieri was speaking, his slightly nasal voice carrying better than the Spaniard. "What of that drunkard Mario? He continues to harass my forces and I fear he'll discover what we intend."

"Keep talking, boy," Mario whispered, "And I will."

The bearded Francesco supported his son, eying the Spaniard. "He's always been trouble. Just like that _bastardo_ brother of his."

Vieri seemed to perk; Ezio could see it even at this distance, and turned. "Then let me reunite them, Father," he said with an eager smirk on his lips.

The Spaniard placed a restricting hand on the young man, placating him by saying, "There will be plenty of time to clean up the trash when we're finished. Now, is there anything else?" No one spoke. "_Muy bien_," he said, the Spanish words foreign to Ezio. "May the Father of Understanding guide you," he concluded, raising a fist up to his heart.

The others quickly followed suit, bowing. "May the Father of Understanding guide you," they all said in unison. The four turned towards the city gate, ready to leave the city. Ezio turned to Mario, and his uncle nodded. Slowly, silently, they began to swing over the overhang of the roof. Halfway through, however, they heard a new voice running up the narrow streets.

"Commander! Commander!"

"What?" Vieri growled, turning and parting from the entourage.

"Mario Auditore invades the city! He comes for you!"

Mario cursed.

"Then let's not keep him waiting," Vieri said, a malicious grin in his voice.

"Where are my men?" Mario growled. "They should be here by now." They climbed back up to the roof, Ezio peering down the shadows streets and alleys before he caught a flash of light, and then another. Moonlight was being reflected off weapons, and Ezio called his uncle's attention to watch as their men immediately engaged in the gate guard, all Pazzi mercenaries. "Good," he said, grinning, relieved. "Just like I planned." He coughed awkwardly.

The two saw Vieri, true to his cowardly nature, departed from the fight and down an alley by the city wall. They tailed him from the roofs until realizing that their target was seeking to climb the ramparts and watch the fight from above. If he gave orders with such a bird's eye view, it could spell disaster for the men stuck on the ground, and with a look the two Auditore nodded. Mario began climbing down the façade of the building they were on. Ezio, impatient, spied a walled in courtyard and, judging the distance, leapt off the roof to land on the tip of the narrow wall; he needed his hands to break the fall complet_ely God damn IDIOT what kind of fucking leap was th_at and then hopped more gracefully to the ground. He could hear his uncle's cursing and offered up a dashing smile before running ahead and up the steps to the ramparts.

Vieri was his responsibility, not Mario's; and Templar or not, Ezio would finish what he started on the bridge in Florence.

He ran up the stairs at full speed, barreling through three city guards and not bothering to stop, leaving them to Mario as he hopped up a pile of supply bricks and up to one of the rampart's towers. Vieri was up there already, one man - a runner, perhaps - with him as he surveyed the battle below at the city gate.

"Vieri!" he shouted, drawing his sword.

The two turned, startled, but a manic grin seemed to settle on the Pazzi's face.

"I've been looking forward to this for a long, long time," he said, drawing his own sword with slow intention.

The fight, to be sure, was not Ezio's best. His mind was full of confusing thoughts about Templars and conspiracies and his father's death, watching his family swing from the gallows in various forms and burying them in the rain with Cristina. If Uberto was connected to this conspiracy, and surely he was if what he said to Lorenzo de' Medici that day was true, then that mean that _Vieri_ was just as responsible for his family's deaths. And for what? What was this all _for_? Ezio growled, rage making his moves sloppier than they should have been, but Vieri was not as skilled as he thought he was, and it made for an almost even match.

Almost.

Vieri made a strong vertical slash, his movements obvious, and Ezio sidestepped it, his hidden blade extending as he plunged it into Vieri's back, below the ribs. The target gasped, surprised, before falling to the ground with a grunt. The runner had long since disappeared.

Vieri was still groaning, and Ezio, confused and angry and desperate for answers, turned the man over and grabbed his doublet. The Pazzi cringed, hands going to his wounded back and his muscles twitching, trying to find some way to lighten the pain he was suffering. "What are you and your allies planning?" Ezio demanded. "Is this what my father discovered? Is _this_ why he was killed?"

Vieri looked up through his pain at Ezio, at his desperation and emotion.

And he gave a snide, oily smile.

"I'm sorry," he grunted, "Were you hoping for a confession?"

And he died.

Just like that. He died.

No answers. No justifications. No excuses. Nothing.

Nothing.

_Nothing._

Ezio was no closer to resolution than he had been when he killed Uberto, he felt no satisfaction, no understanding, no _closure_, and all he could think about was his father's last words, Frederico slowly choking, Petruccio's broken neck. How could he get past it, _any_ of it, if he didn't even _understand_ it? And his greatest chance for understanding, his biggest opportunity for answers, had effectively spat in his face. "_Were you hoping for a confession?_" Yes. Yes! He _had_ been hoping for a confession! An explanation! An end to his unhealed pain! And to be _denied_ that by this... this...

Ezio gave out a low growl of pain, tears in his eyes as the rage washed over him all over again.

"_Pezzo di merda!_" he shouted, shaking the corpse. "I only wish you suffered more! You met the fate you deserved! I only hope yo-"

"Enough, Ezio!" A hand grabbed at him and yanked him up from the body. Ezio turned and blindly threw a fist but it was blocked by a sturdy hand, and Mario stared at him in acute disappointment. "Show some respect," he said in a cold voice.

But the young Florentine was beyond reason. "Respect? _Respect?_ After all that's happened? After what that _figlio d'un cane bastardo pezzo di merda_ has done? The part he played in my family's death, _in your brother's_?" He spat at the body. "Do you think he would show _either_ of us such kindness? _Did he show Father?_ He _didn't_! He doesn't _deserve_-"

Mario punched his nephew, deep in the gut with such force that all air left the nineteen-year-old, and he fell to his knees, gaping and gasping for air. Mario stood over him, his half-blind gaze narrow and penetrating, as if he could see into Ezio's very soul.

"You are not Vieri," he said in a low, commanding tone. He repeated: "_You_ are _not_ Vieri. Do not become him. Just because we are Assassins does not mean we do our work out of anger or bloodlust. If you cannot understand _that_, then the last two years have been wasted on you, and I've trained nothing more than a hired blade. Be better than that, and respect what the weight of death means."

Ezio was still gasping for breath, clutching his stomach and waiting for air to enter his lungs as Mario reached into his doublet and pulled out a piece of parchment. "Take this," he said, tossing it to the ground in front of his nephew. "Read it. Perhaps you'll see a side of your target that you didn't think existed."

He walked away from the Florentine and knelt down to the body of Vieri de' Pazzi. "May death provide the peace you sought," he whispered softly. He reached up and closed the cadaver's eyes. "_Requiescat in pace_."

After a moment of silence, Mario looted the body of its papers and stood. "While you read that, I'll tend to my men and finish the fight below," he said, his voice still dark and disappointed.

Numb, Ezio watched his uncle go, taking in a breath and holding it, uncertain what he felt or how he even should feel. The battle was still raging below, but the sounds were only dimly recognized in Ezio's ears, and he blinked, noticing belatedly that his cheeks were wet. Rubbing his face, he reached out to examine the parchment to see that his hands were covered in blood. He read the letter.

"_Messer Francesco,_

_ "I have done as requested and spoken with your son. I agree with your assessment, though only in part. Yes, Vieri is brash and prone to act without forethought. And yes he has a habit of treating the mercenaries like playthings. I've received reports of at least three men being disfigured as a result. But I do not think him, as you put it, beyond repair. Rather, I believe the solution is a simple matter._

_ "He seeks your approval. Your attention. These outbursts of his are a result of insecurities borne out of a sense of inadequacy. He speaks of you often and fondly and expresses a desire to be closer to you. So if he is loud and foul and angry - I believe it is simply because he wants to be noticed. He wants to be loved._

_ "Act as you see fit on the information I have given you here. But I must ask that we end this correspondence. Were he to discover the nature of our conversations, I fear what may become of me._

_ "Yours in Confidence,_

_ "Fra Giocondo."_

...

He felt that odd understanding that he felt with Uberto. As one of four children, there were many times they all bickered for attention, even sickly Petruccio. Was it right to understand the enemy? Was _that_ the understanding he was trying to seek?

... How did it make him feel? Too look back on all the squabbles he had with Vieri, the fight on the bridge, to know that the overbearing show of force and mercenaries was to get the attention of Francesco de' Pazzi... did Vieri even notice Ezio, or was the former noble just a convenient target of misplaced rage? Uberto and Giovanni had been close friends, even brothers, and yet he had betrayed the Auditore so readily... What did that mean?

Ezio shook his head, running his soiled hands through his hair, pulling out its tie and knotting it around his fingers.

Death... it was a heavy affair, just like Mario said. The men Ezio had killed, they all had families, and insecurities, and motivations. It was not a cut-and-dry matter of "he did this" or "he said that," it couldn't be because humans were much more complicated than that. Even the Templars and Assassins, Ezio couldn't even begin to comprehend the level of complexities of an enmity that lasted hundreds of years. And he... he was just one small piece of it, a cog in a mighty machine of destiny.

... He couldn't accept that. Ezio couldn't accept that his father's death was impersonal, meaningless in the grand scheme of things. He couldn't accept that things like this could just _happen_ and not do anything about it. Someone had to be held accountable, the participants of the conspiracy had to pay for their actions.

But... it was not personal. How could Ezio ever resign himself with that?

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and dimly, he looked up to see his uncle had returned. The sounds of fighting were gone, and two men flanked the Auditore. The Assassin.

"Our work here is finished," Mario said, not unkindly. "Let us return to the villa."

Mute, Ezio got up to follow.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And Ezio makes his first assassination as an Assassin. Sort of. Before we get into that, allow us a few minute to whine and complain about the "two year" (technically 16 month) jump. You can't just gloss over these time jumps because Desmond doesn't just blip from one memory to the next (well, he does in the game, but the logic we've set up for the Animus doesn't allow for it) the best Rebecca and the others can do is "fast forward" them. The stuff Ezio does and experiences is important - especially for Desmond because that's where he learns how to fight through the Bleeding Effect. You can't just skip over that - and because of that all the future time jumps have to be covered.

The pain. It is pain. And it only gets worse, because all the future time jumps are even LONGER. Sigh.

But you'll get tired quickly of us whining. Let's talk about Ezio. Unlike Altair, Ezio has to learn the hard way about death, murder, and what it means to be an assassin. While Uberto is technically his first kill, it's clumsy and reactionary and before he really understand what he's doing. This kill, with Vieri, is much uglier; it's personal, it's confused, and it's mangled in emotions that - as an Italian and especially as a Florentine - Ezio feels on full volume. This chapter is as much a lesson for him as it is a step in his growth as an assassin.

And, as we know, all true learning is a little painful.

Next chapter: the return to Florence.


	7. Avenger cum Assassin

**Part Seven: Avenger cum Assassin**

The ride back to Monteriggioni seemed to take forever, and while the mercenaries were cheering and planning a party, Mario escorted Ezio back to the villa, where Claudia, waiting up for her brother, took one look at his emotional exhaustion and ordered him to bed. Ezio slept for over nine hours, well into the afternoon, and when he got up and washed and dressed, he pulled Claudia and Maria (though it seemed fruitless, he could not ignore her) and explained everything that had happened the previous night: the Templar meeting, the fight with Vieri, the ugly death, the letter Mario had given him, trailing off with his confused thoughts.

"I had thought that killing Uberto Alberti would be enough," he said slowly, sitting with his elbows at his knees, staring at the floor. "He was the one responsible, I thought. Now, now I know for certain that there is an entire web of people who had some kind of hand in their deaths. Father, Federico, Petruccio, they have not been avenged."

Claudia, surprisingly quiet up to now, asked, "What's changed?"

Ezio looked up to her, blinking. "What?"

"What's changed?" his sister pressed. "They still killed our family. Knowing what kind of people they are, realizing they're not monsters, changes nothing. Their motivations make them men, nothing more. In fact, it makes them even worse. The fact of the matter is, men or not, they still killed three innocent people. I don't care what kind of justification they tell themselves, they could believe they're doing God's work for all we know, but they _still did it._ They knew what they were doing was wrong, and they still did it."

"But am I any different?" Ezio asked. "I've killed-"

"But they were not innocent," Claudia said, her eyes intense. "Whatever I feel about Assassins and Templars, I know that Father could _never_ kill an innocent man, and _that's_ the difference between us and them. _They_ would."

And in that moment it crystallized in Ezio's mind. He was not the hired blade, as Mario had accused him of, he was not looking to kill men blindly.

... He was looking for justice.

And that made him an Assassin.

Several of Giovanni's letters suddenly made sense, and at last Ezio accepted just what his father did, and why he did it, and why it was so important. It was a heavy burden, the two kills he had made, but now he fully understood it, the weight, the responsibility, and also the need. It was more than revenge, and though he doubted he could ever get past some factor of vengeance in his work, now he understood how it played out in a grander scheme, he saw the Assassin/Templar conflict for exactly what it was, and he accepted it.

He was an Assassin.

"Will we be safe?"

Ezio blinked, pulling himself out of his thoughts.

"In Spain," she clarified. "Will we be safe?"

The question rattled in Ezio's head as he mulled it over.

"The Pazzi answer to another; a Spaniard," he said slowly. "I don't know who he is, I did not see his face, but it was clear that he was giving orders to the Pazzi."

Claudia sniffed. "I thought the Pazzi answered to no one, why else insult Lorenzo de' Medici over and over?" Her face softened, however, thoughts darkening. "But if he is Spanish, then Spain will not be safe. Perhaps France? Or the Germanies? No, the bankers know our name there."

"We can make no decision until we know who this Spaniard is and how far his reach extends," Ezio said darkly, thinking of Uberto. _"At least now we see how far your reach extends - which is to say - nowhere at all. It proves a valuable lesson for me and my allies."_ How powerful were these men, the Templars, that they could order the Pazzi around and arrange for the dishonor of the Auditore and plan... whatever they were planning?

"He is Rodrigo Borgia, one of the most powerful men in all of Europe and leader of the Templar Order."

Claudia and Ezio looked up to see Mario standing in the doorway, arms crossed as he leaned on the frame, the afternoon sun casting him in golden light.

"Uncle, how long have you been here?"

"Long enough, _piccina_," he said gently. He continued, "Borgia is a Cardinal and the Vice-Chancellor to the Pope, has been for some seven years now."

"Then... then nowhere is safe," Claudia said, eyes wide as her face paled. She reached out and grabbed her mother's hand.

Ezio, however, had grasped a different piece of information. "As the leader of the Templar Order, that makes him responsible for the murder of my father and brothers."

"Yes," Mario said, pushing off the frame and entering the room more completely. "And he will kill all of you too, given the chance."

... Then Claudia was right, nowhere was safe. Uberto, the Pazzi, they were all just arms for the Spaniard, for Borgia. Hiding would never be enough, because they would be followed for the rest of their lives. In a sense, they were cornered already, trapped with the knowledge of how powerful Borgia was. Ezio made his decision.

"Then I must stand against him if we wish to be free."

Mario looked at Ezio for a long time; his half-blind gaze narrow again, before he smiled. "We," he said. "_We_ must stand against him."

"But," Claudia said, still clutching Maria, "getting to him will be almost impossible!"

"Not if every other Templar has fallen to my blade," Ezio said. "Once all the men culpable for our family's death have fallen, the Spaniard will be easy to access. Father's list will guide me."

Mario nodded, approving. "Where will you go next?"

"... Firenze. Francesco de' Pazzi will share the fate of his son." And perhaps he could stop whatever the Spaniard was planning.

"A sensible next step," Mario said. "But first a day or two of rest. Tonight will be a party, celebrating our victory in San Gimignano, being hosted by Ulderico. I'd like you both to attend."

They talked a little more, and after a light breakfast - early supper, really - Ezio eventually found his way to Mario's library. He wanted to reread his father's letters, to reaffirm the decision he had been making. Coming down the staircase, he saw a thin wisp of a man standing near the doors, looking around nervously.

"_Buon giorno_," he greeted, walking up to him. "Is there something you need?"

"_Ser_ Mario hired me," the man said.

"Then come with me," Ezio said, leading the man into his uncle's study. Mario was pouring over a small pile of papers, growling as he tended to do when not out in the field or enjoying his family. "Uncle, this man says you've hired him?"

"Ah, Orazio!" his uncle said expansively. "Have you finished the tour around the city?"

"_Si_," Orazio said. "But I'm an architect, not a miracle worker. Without money, I can't fix any of this mess. The church, the mines, the well, the villa itself, all the buildings that need maintenance, the cost of it is astronomical. The budget you gave me is more than insufficient, I need more money."

Ezio immediately thought of Claudia and all the plans they had half-made for the city, and, for the first time since the death of his family, he gave an honest, mischievous smile. "And if someone brought you money?" he asked in a sly voice.

"Then we'd be in business!" the architect said, his face brightening and his hands beginning to rub together. "You must be _Ser_ Ezio. Am I right?"

Using a noble title?

"Uncle! I like this architect!"

"He gets very observant when he can smell money!" Mario said, laughing. "_Bene_, I'll leave it to you and Claudia. You two bankers already act like a wife with the pitiful amount of spending money you give me. You two go talk, I have work to do."

Ezio lead Orazio to a corner of the study for a semblance of privacy, calling up the stairs to get Claudia. They would finally settle the argument over the mines or the well it seemed. He explained to his sister quickly who Orazio was, and the two stood shoulder to shoulder, letting the man give his pitch.

"Uncle said you like the smell of money?" Ezio opened.

"If you're going to fix up this town I'm going to need it," Orazio said, eying Claudia. "I have a price list here for new shops and renovations. Just bring me gold, make a choice and I'll begin at once. If I build you a shop, you (as the landlord) can purchase goods there at lower rates. If you invest more money in the shop, you get an even greater discount. As for renovations, well... you'll be bringing the town and villa back to life. As _Ser_ Mario tells me, it was important to your great-great-grandfather. Plus when you buy shops and renovations, you'll be increasing the number of people who visit, causing your income to increase!"

"You gave me an idiot's explanation, didn't you?" Claudia said, immediately cross. "Well, let me ask you a few questions, then: What percent discounts do you, an architect who knows nothing of business, think is fair? Actually, no, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you're just trying to be nice. Instead, I'll ask which should get higher priority, renovations to shops or improvements to infrastructure? What kind of stonework is necessary for the ramparts? How many workers will be needed to fix up the facades on the city? Where would you go to hire out? It better not be Venezia, I don't care how much they pride themselves. Also, what should be done first, the mines or the well?"

The architect gaped. He looked at Ezio.

"Oh, no," the Florentine said. "Don't look at me. Which should be first, the mines or the well?"

"... The mines? The well is less important because people can substitute wine for drink."

Claudia snorted. "Will wine clean clothes, or wash windows, or cook food? Will wine be free like water?"

And, thus, Ezio lost the battle as his _piccina_ continued to pound the architect with questions until he capitulated to every demand she made. Soon after they gathered the meager savings they had managed for the last year and a quarter and handed it over to fix the well. Orazio looked a little rattled, but once the pouch of ducats was in his hand he immediately brightened, practically hopping out of the villa with a cheery "_Buon viaggio_!"

Claudia was not nearly so pleased.

"Our uncle is a monster," she hissed as the man departed. "This is outrageous!"

"What?" Ezio asked.

"Since _someone_ has decided we're going to stay here, that means _we_ have to try and find the money to do all the repairs that architect listed. You've seen the accounts, Ezio, there _isn't_ any. We barely had enough to pay for the well. Uncle won't be _any_ help, you've seen how he handles money."

Ezio shrugged. "I bet I can bring in some money," he offered.

"Oh, _grazie_, Ezio," Claudia said in utter sarcasm, "_Just_ what I need, _more_ work. I'll be stuck behind a desk for the rest of my life thanks to you and Uncle Mario."

"It won't be that bad!"

"Says the man who will be gallivanting all over Italia," Claudia quipped, sniffing in disdain. "You're going to let all the work fall to a woman, you know that?"

Ezio smirked. "Not just any woman, my _piccina_. I wouldn't _trust_ any other woman with our finances."

Claudia flushed, and Ezio knew he had won the argument, and took satisfaction in that since he lost the fight over the well.

"Fine," she groused, unhappy that she hadn't gotten her way. "Good luck finding money in Firenze, and know that any taxes we receive go straight to my dowry."

_That_ made Ezio pause, and he looked at his sister with wide eyes.

She caught he gaze and leveled a defensive glare of her own. "Did you _want_ me to be a spinster?" she demanded. "We lost everything in Firenze, including my dowry. Disgraced as we are, the only way I'm going to get married is if my dowry is impressive. By the time it is, I'll be an old maid anyway, so I'll have to settle for whoever will have me."

Ezio clutched his sister's shoulders, eyes intense. "That's not going to happen," he said in a rough voice. "You will _only_ marry the man you love, you will _not_ settle for some... money-grabbing..."

"Then you'll have to bring in a lot of gold, won't you?" Claudia asked, an evil smile on her lips.

"Yes, I-" He blinked, realizing how Claudia had just cornered him.

... Of all the...!

The pair burst out laughing, startling Mario in his study and several of the house servants, they laughed so hard they cried; it was the first time either of them could honestly do so, and it was a sign of hope for the future.

As the sun set, Ezio and Claudia changed into their finery - well, "finery" in context of their meager wardrobes and lack of formal wear - and left Annetta with Maria as they exited the villa and went down to the repurposed stage. Every mercenary in Monteriggioni was there, as was their wives and extended family, all at varying levels of sobriety as food lay half eaten on tables. Everyone was laughing and playfully punching each other or pouring wine, many had red faces, and Ezio quickly steered his sister away when he saw one mercenary buried in the bare chest of a woman - presumably his wife.

"And here he is!" a familiar gruff voice called out over the din. Mario emerged from the crowd, red from forehead to neck, and threw a sloppy arm around his nephew. "Our champion, Ezio!"

"All hail Ezio!" toasted, clinking their mugs together before chugging the wine.

"I see you've wasted no time starting the celebration," Ezio said with a wide grin. He loved parties!

"And why not?!" Mario scoffed, hiccupping and swaying slightly on Ezio's shoulder. "You've done us a great service, _nipote_! With Vieri dead, Tuscany will grow quiet once more. Do you know what that means?"

"No more work!" said one mercenary.

"We can drink all day!" said another.

"And with whores!" said a third. Everyone stared at him. "What?! It's true!"

Everyone laughed.

For four hours the men drank and partied, some collapsing wherever there was room, some staggering home with their families, more than a few challenging each other to contests either in drink or in battle - though the battles were more often than not a source of great entertainment - watching drunkards engage in an epic fight was a sight to behold. Ezio guarded his sister most of the night, even as he himself became tipsy, from mercenaries that thought she was "very pretty" or "quite beautiful." Eventually, however, she settled into a small cluster of women and engaged them on conversation. Once Ezio thought it was safe, he engaged in his share of challenges, mostly fights, though he did have one drinking challenge that he won.

The next morning left almost everyone with headaches, though Ezio was proud to admit his was mild compared to others, and after a full breakfast it was gone. Not so for the mercenaries, and Ezio left them to fight their hangovers.

Mario was in his study, having drank more than anyone and yet looking perfectly composed and lucid. Ezio's respect for the man raised another notch upon seeing that.

"Ezio! My boy. I think it's time I showed you something."

"Yes, Uncle?"

Mario pulled out an old, leather bound portfolio, opening it up to a small collection of ancient looking bits of parchment.

"Look familiar?" he asked with a grin.

"Other Codex pages..." Ezio said, quickly scanning through them. Several were pictures, whoever wrote them had a fair hand, but not the skill of a painter.

"Yes, your father managed to find and translate a few before he..." Mario trailed off, never able to express in words what had happened to his brother. Instead, he watched as Ezio looked over the pages, blinking before he realized something. "Uncle, I have more of these. Wait a moment." With skill of over a year of practice, Ezio unclasped his bracer and pulled out the parchments that Leonardo had discovered when deciphering how to fix it.

"Here," he said, handing over the pages.

Mario looked through them quickly, frowning as he observed the quillwork. "This is not your father's work," he said. "Someone else has translated it."

"Leonardo da Vinci," Ezio explained. "A friend." Mario gave a measured gaze, but Ezio crossed his arms, daring his uncle to refute him. His uncle shrugged and instead pointed to the various pages.

"Do you see the way the words cross from one page to the next?"

The young Florentine blinked, surprised by the question, and looked at the pages in more detail. "There is something underneath it all," he muttered, examining the edges of the pages, the intricate boarders and curious stray lines of ink that seemed to serve no purpose and were contrary to the steady hand that scripted the pages. "Some kind of map? Where is it supposed to lead?"

Mario shrugged. "Your father and I managed to make out bits of a prophecy scrawled across the pages. It was written by an Assassin like us, who long ago held a 'Piece of Eden'. His name was Altair. He spoke of something powerful and ancient hidden beneath the land."

"What is it?"

"What indeed," Mario said. "Solving that little mystery is exactly why we collected these pages."

Ezio nodded, turning to his uncle. "Then let me help. It's time I take on my father's work. _All_ of it. I'll start with the pages you took from Vieri, Leonardo will decode it for us when I get to Firenze."

"_Bene_," Mario said, nodding in turn and smiling slightly, perhaps in pride. "There is one other thing you should see." And with that he turned to the bookshelf behind his desk, hands going to one well-thumbed book and pulling at it. Ezio startled when he heard the strain of pulleys and counterweights, and watched in surprise as the entire bookshelf pulled back and slid to the side, revealing a set of stone stares in stark contrast to the marble floors of the villa.

Mario said nothing, instead gesturing for Ezio to follow, and the nineteen-year-old did, down a dark series of steps that twisted around and deep underground, exiting to a massive amphitheatre of some kind, light streaming down from above. Ezio was surprised to recognize the light came from grating of the back garden of the villa, he had always thought is covered a cistern of some kind...

"This is the Sanctuary," Mario said with an expansive gesture. "It was built by my great-grandfather to honor the memory of the Assassin Order and protect its secrets. Look around!" he added, stepping down and into the circular room, spinning around with arms wide in pride. Behind him stood seven impressive statues, standing perhaps a dozen feet tall apiece and depicting, not gods or deities, but rather men and woman of remarkably different costumes - even time periods. "These are the assassins who guarded the freedom of humanity when it was most threatened," Mario explained, taking Ezio to each statue.

On the left were three men, each pedestal giving their name and their deed: Qulan Gal, who killed the horse of Genghis Khan with a bow and arrow; Darius, who killed Xerxes with a hidden blade - the first recorded use, the pedestal noted; Wei Yu, who killed Qin Shi Huan with a spear. On the right was another male assassin: Leonius, who stabbed Caligula with a dagger. There were also, Ezio was surprised to see, two decidedly _female_ assassins: Amunet, who killed Cleopatra with a snake; and Ilanti, who killed Alexander the Great with poison.

Each pedestal had a circular recess, and Ezio could just make out small holes along the recess. Beneath each recess was an odd relief: a skull enclosed in a triangle of some kind, deep red. Was it a symbol of their kills, or their deaths? Ezio wasn't sure.

The central statue was of a man in long robes, a hidden blade much like Ezio's extended, a_nd holy shit that's him! loo_king down seemingly right at Ezio. The statue was behind iron bars, however, and at its feet was a mannequin holding an odd-looking set of plate armor. It was of a type Ezio was not familiar with, and he looked in askance to his uncle.

"And this is the armor of Altair," he said. "Little is known about Altair's life, but his armor is light and very strong. I'd give it to you, but I don't know how to retrieve it. My great-grandfather told me it would remain locked away until all its protectors were made whole. I heard rumors of crypts located throughout Italia, hidden tombs filled with treasure where these six were moved centuries ago. Maybe they have something to do with it. In my younger days, I sought the six myself... with no success." Mario gazed at the statue, a nostalgic look on his face, one Ezio had learned meant that Mario was thinking of Giovanni. Before he could say anything, his uncle turned back to his nephew. "Perhaps you will have better luck."

"... Perhaps," Ezio said.

"Well, once I know our men are sober, I'll make arrangements to depart for Firenze. I have a contact that I'll apprise of the situation and inform them of your visit."

"... 'My' visit? You are not coming?"

"No, Ezio. A man must always walk on his own two feet; he cannot always rely on people around him. I was a crutch for you earlier, but I can't and won't be forever. You must learn how to do these kills properly."

In the large amphitheatre, surrounded by statues of great Assassins, under the gaze of the mysterious Altair, Ezio nodded, understanding the gravity of the declaration. Mario left Ezio to explore, and to be certain, the young Florentine examined every nook and cranny of the Sanctuary, admiring every detail of the statues, studying the inscriptions on their pedestals, and looking at the strange armor at the feet of the central statue.

Ezio sat there, staring up at the statue. Altair... was it? Speaking of things powerful and ancient. Was he a learned man? He looked down to the pages, still in his hand. One of them had been translated by his father.

_"I had thought Adha would be the one to lead me to rest, that I might lay down my blade and live as a normal man. But now I know such dreams are best left to sleep... Her face. I try to banish it from my mind as I remember the days and nights during which I chased her Templar captors across the sea. I almost got to them in time. Almost. If I had only been faster. Instead, I held her lifeless body in my arms – saw the terror reflected in her fixed, unblinking eyes..._"

Ezio blinked, somewhat startled as he felt a deep resonance in the distant assassin's words. If only he had been faster, he would not be haunted by the vision of his family swinging on the gallows. If only he had been smarter and seen Uberto's treachery. If only he had been quicker to realize the danger Giovanni had sensed. To feel such a connection to a man from who knew how many years ago... Ezio was struck utterly still. Somehow hungry, he continued reading.

"_I hunted each man – one by one – until all responsible were gone from the world. But there was no joy in this. No satisfaction or release. Their deaths did not bring her back. Did not heal my wounds._"

Ezio nodded, having only recently realized that his work would not bring any kind of satisfaction, that he had been a fool to think that killing Uberto or Vieri would give him some kind of release. It was as if this man, Altair, was speaking directly to Ezio's heart.

_"After that, I was certain I would never again feel for a woman as I had for her. _

_ "I am fortunate to have been wrong."_

"At least you were able to find happiness," Ezio said softly, looking up to the statue. He thought of Cristina, as he often had for the last year, and wished she had come with him, that his training had been spent with her at his side, giving him the comfort he had so often needed but could not grant himself. He was returning to Florence, perhaps... A small smile tugged at his face. Perhaps there was still a chance.

The thought made him smile, and he spend the rest of the day reading through the pages Mario had shown him, learning a little bit of a man named Altair Ibn-La'Ahad.

* * *

Ezio arrived late afternoon to Florence. It felt strange to be back there. He, in some way, expected it to be the same as when he left. Cold, wet, barren, dark. But it was mid-April. Easter was only a week away and already early-blooming flowers were hanging from windows, growing up trellises, fresh fruits being sold.

It was... both good and bad to see life have moved on after the horrendous deaths of his father and brothers. Walking the streets brought up many happy memories, from Federico teaching him how to flirt in the red-light district, to picnics with his family, to sneaking Petruccio out of the house for a morning. So many happy memories, from the good life he'd lead.

Memories that would never happen again.

With a silent sigh, Ezio lowered his hood, seeking to take no chances and went deeper into the city as the sun continued to set. It was true dark when he arrived at Paola's, many customers crowding the main hall of the mansion, entertained by low sighs and silent whispers.

Ezio waited for a moment, surveying those around him with fresh eyes after a year of training. He could now spot who had training and who lead a softer life, tell those who fought professionally from those like he had been, trained to survive a duel but little else. Ezio was surprised to note that the courtesans had a level of grace to suggest that they had training of some kind, though Ezio didn't dare guess. He just remained in the shadows, hiding amongst many, waiting.

Paola appeared on an overlooking balcony, checking her girls and Ezio stopped hiding, stepping into view, changing his posture enough for only a trained eye to see him. Paola noticed him right away, and gestured for him to come join her.

Ezio would admit some slight discomfort at being in the brothel madam's private room, but none of it showed. He owed this woman far too much.

"I'm glad you were able to return, Ezio," she said, her mysterious eyes twinkling. "And I see you've practiced what I've shown you."

"A useful skill, to be sure," he replied.

She smiled, looking more like a woman of higher stature than what she truly was. "You've learned other skills in your time away."

Ezio smiled. "I've tried to keep busy."

Paola gave a warm laugh.

"I've yet to be able to repay you for all that you've done for my family," Ezio started, but Paola cut him off.

"You needn't do anything," she said. "Your father, he did something like this for me once. I was repaying a debt of my own. You needn't consider yourself owing me anything."

Ezio shrugged. He still felt he owed her, but trying to argue about it would be fruitless. He would think of another way to repay her. "Whether I'm indebted or not, I am here for a favor."

"Of course," she demurred, starting to pour some tea.

"Put bluntly, I need a place to stay. At least until I can learn how Firenze has changed in my absence."

Paola nodded. "Consider it done. You may stay in the room you were at previously."

Ezio bowed, feeling the fatigue of a long day's travel.

Paola gave him more than tea, calling up for a proper supper. Thankfully, she left him to his crooked thoughts. His happy memories of Florence that always lead to swinging gallows. There were only two things, people, that weren't truly tainted by his sundered family and traitorous status.

One was Leonardo. Not much seemed to affect that brilliant painter, but Ezio couldn't help but admire the man's genius. It had been over a year, but he looked forward to seeing the flighty man again. To talk of mixing paints, the proportion of the face and body, the composition of art. During his free time at Monteriggioni, Ezio had started trying to paint, hoping to find an outlet for his grief and sorrow. He wanted to paint his lost family but didn't have enough skill to do them justice.

But visiting Leonardo wouldn't just be talk of painting. He'd also have a Codex page translated. So, while seeing his friend would be visiting a memory untainted by the massacre of half his family, it would still be a trip of business.

Cristina, however...

She held Ezio's heart. He dreamed of her often, wondered if she was well or if his association with her had brought trouble. Ezio had remained faithful to her and wondered if it would really be all right to see her. To possibly bring more trouble to her.

But Ezio had not seen her in over a year. He loved her desperately and wished to see her, kiss her, hold her once more.

In the end, as any Florentine would, Ezio bowed to love's demands.

He slipped out of Paola's in the gray dawn, his gate one of a satisfied customer slinking home to his wife. The sun continued to rise as he carefully weaved through the streets, reaching the home of the Vespucci. He climbed easily, faster than he had last time as he'd had plenty of practice in Monteriggioni, and slipped into her room as she was brushing her hair.

Cristina gasped once she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her brush dropping to the floor with a clatter as she stood up so quickly her seat was knocked over.

"Ezio!" she cried out. "What are you doing here?"

Ezio couldn't stop the smile that blossomed on his face as he stepped forward. "I only just came back to Firenze..." he said, not wishing to explain the ugly task he had before him. "Look at you! As beautiful as ever." He cupped her cheek in his hand, admiring her soft features and beautiful eyes.

She smiled at him briefly before frowning and turning her face into his hand. "But... Oh, Ezio... I... It's been over a year!"

"And I've thought of nothing but you," he said quietly, reverently, as he took her small hand in his, his smile unable to leave his face.

"Oh, but, Ezio..." She pulled her hand away, stepping back and away, her tone forlorn.

"What is it?" he asked, gently holding her arm to stop her.

"I'm engaged to be married!" Cristina said in frustration and sadness.

Ezio's hand dropped as his jaw did. _Too late. I'm always too late for the ones I love..._

"My father kept asking me to choose," she said sadly. Her eyes were his, her heart was his, but he'd been away with no promise of coming back. What a fool he'd been! "I thought I would never see you again..."

A scream pierced the room before Ezio could reply. Cristina stepped to him for a moment, before turning and heading to the window, looking down to the streets. Ezio stepped behind her, hidden by the curtain and shadows and saw a servant woman down in the streets, her hands cupped by her mouth as she called up,

"It's Manfredo! He's going to kill him!"

"What!?" Cristina gasped, her hands gong to her mouth.

"Some guy he lost money to!" the servant's companion explained. "He's dragged him out to the end of the new bridge!"

Cristina stepped back in shock, her hands dropping uselessly to her sides.

Ezio, however, didn't understand a word of it.

"Who the hell is Manfredo?"

"My fiancé..." Cristina whispered.

Ezio looked to the woman he loved. Really looked at her. There was no doubt in his mind whatsoever; she loved him. Greatly, passionately; just as desperately as he loved her. It was in her stance, in her voice, in every batting of her eye. But she _did_ care for this Manfredo. If forced to choose, Ezio had no doubt that she had made her selection carefully, thoughtfully, planning according to what would be best for her. Someone she could spend time with, be with, not be completely unhappy with.

This Manfredo had something in him that caught Cristina's eye. Not the same way Ezio had, but enough for him to be redeemable if he loved her as well and wasn't just going for her dowry.

Ezio nodded, swiftly leaping out the window and climbing back down to the streets. Cristina called out to him, but he was already dashing southward.

Manfredo was engaged to her. He could provide a stable life, one without danger, unlike Ezio.

This Manfredo had _better_ be worthy of her.

Racing through the streets was child's play. He knew every back alley and throughway like the back of his hand and this early in the morning, those who were up were still half asleep as they were going about the start of the day. Shops were only just opening, workers heading to their jobs. Ezio could maneuver through these sparse crowds in almost no time.

He reached the Arno swiftly and headed to the new bridge, just barely started when he'd left and now crossing half the span of the Arno.

"I'll pay you back, I swear!" a voice cried at the end of the bridge.

"It's too late for that now," a gruff voice grunted back.

"It wasn't my fault! I was going to have the money for you today!" the first voice whined. "But a payment came in late!"

There were three thugs standing over a kneeling man, dressed as a well-to-do merchant. The thugs clearly weren't going to hear any excuses and one lifted a club to start extracting payment from Manfredo.

Ezio didn't even pause in his running. He was barreling into the thug on the left, sending the man diving into the cold water below. The others didn't even have time to react as Ezio grabbed the middle grunt's head and brought it down swiftly to his knee, knocking out the thug's teeth and rendering him unconscious. The last hoodlum had only barely unsheathed a dagger when Ezio came bearing down on him, grabbing the hand and twisting, breaking fingers, wrist, and then kicking the man swiftly in the groin with his armored shin to make him a soprano.

The fight, if it could be called that, barely even winded him. He swiftly dumped the two thugs into the Arno to join their friend and whirled to Manfredo.

"_Grazie Messere_!" Cristina's fiancé bowed and smiled, using a handkerchief to wipe sweat from his brow. "You don't know how close-"

But Ezio couldn't stand it. He had to know. He grabbed this fop by the collar and leaned him back over the Arno as well.

"Whoa! Hey!" the merchant protested. "Wait! What are you doing!?"

"Do you love her?" Ezio demanded harshly.

"What?"

"_Do you love her_?" Ezio bellowed. "Cristina! The woman you are about to marry!"

Manfredo paused as, in a split second, he seemed to understand exactly what Ezio was asking, why Ezio was asking, and just who Ezio was. The panic left his face, his eyes flashed, and he answered seriously, if still in a panicked voice.

"Yes, I do! I swear, I do. Kill me here and I will die still loving her," he said in the full flourish of a Florentine.

And if ever there were a people that Ezio understood, it was Florentines. He'd seen that spark, heard the passionate plea, and pulled him back from over the Arno River.

"You are never going to gamble again," he said flatly.

"Never, _Messere_," Manfredo solemnly vowed.

"You will be a good husband to her. Or I will hunt you down and kill you myself."

He threw the man aside, too full of emotion to be gentle in the slightest.

Manfredo nodded. "It shall be my life's work, _Ser_ Ezio," he said quietly. "I will never risk her through anything I do. I swear it."

Ezio nodded chaotically, too much energy coursing through him. Then he turned on his heel and left. He had made sure. Manfredo would be a good husband.

The merchant was a good man, if he suffered weaknesses. He now understood the dangers he'd suffer if Cristina were hurt, or at least, Manfredo had awakened to the dangers he'd suffer if he didn't straighten his life.

Ezio stalked away. He may have waited for Cristina, but she didn't have the guarantee when he'd left. Like the rest of Firenze, she'd had to move on.

He really hated always being too late to grasp the people he cared for.

As Ezio stalked back into the streets of his hometown, he spied the woman this had all been about rushing towards the river to get to the half-built bridge.

... Ezio had never been able to say goodbye to his family. He'd last seen his father assuming that the situation would be straightened out. Then they were all swinging from the gallows.

In this at least, Ezio could give a proper goodbye.

He passed her unnoticed, then grabbed her into an alley still dark in the rising sun, and held her against the wall. Ezio kissed Cristina. Passionately. Hungrily. Desperately. He kissed her for the last time, to say farewell, to give all the love he had for her as his last gift.

As she always did, she melted into the kiss, reaching up to pull his face closer. Against Ezio's will a hand wandered down to her bottom, pulling her closer in the embrace, pouring all his feelings into this last encounter as much as he could. But he kept a hand on the rough stonework of the alley so that he remembered where they were. So that he wouldn't lose himself.

So that he could pull away.

Cristina looked at him with adoring eyes.

Ezio reached deep into his soul to get the strength.

"He's fine." Ezio said quietly, his voice a little shaky, stepping back further. "He'll make a good husband. I made sure of it." It was the only thing he could do for her as she moved on. He couldn't hold her back any more.

So he turned and left, unable to face any more.

"Wha-what?!" Cristina cried behind him.

She started to follow him, and Ezio learned lessons learned from the matron of a brothel to disappear into the crowds before his will wavered any more.

* * *

Ezio wandered the streets pointlessly for a good chunk of the morning and into the afternoon as well, his heart truly broken and due to his own foolishness. Cristina, the love of his life, would be happy; he'd ensured it. He should be happy for her. But at the moment, he was too lost in grief of losing yet _another_ piece of the life he'd led.

He stopped at a tavern for lunch, munching on roast fowl and slathering honey on his bread. The wine he only sipped. For all of his ruined life, he knew that he still had a grizzly task before him, and would need his wits about him. Florence may have forgotten the scandal surrounding his family, but Ezio didn't trust anything yet. Not with the Pazzi still in the city.

So after lunch, Ezio pushed aside his grieving heart and headed to a small studio belonging to his friend Leonardo da Vinci.

He knocked and an assistant let him in. The workshop was still a mess as it was last time. If anything it was even _more_ of a mess. Half-built contraptions with barely started paintings with beakers of something Ezio didn't even care to identify. The assistant disappeared to another room and Ezio just looked around at the clutter, chuckling to himself.

"Ezio...?" Leonardo turned and his whole face lit up. "You're still alive!" The artist rushed forward, grasping Ezio's broader shoulders and smiled widely.

"Look at this place!" he chuckled back. All the paintings showed that Leonardo, as his mother had predicted, was being noticed as a painter and the contraptions showed the painter still was as fanciful and flighty as before. "The past year has been kind to you," Ezio said with a grin. It was good to see a friend doing well.

And still able to be his friend.

"But you are not the same at all, are you...?" Leonardo said quietly.

Ezio looked down and away. Leonardo _would_ notice. Ezio had been training for a long time now, he walked differently, held himself differently, he blended instead of commanding attention. But with such a quick mind and eye for detail, of course his friend would notice. It was a quiet acknowledgement of what had happened to Ezio's family and the changes it had brought him.

Ezio had dwelled enough on his losses for one day, so he switched topics. "I was hoping you might be able to help me with something."

"Anything for you, my friend!" And Leonardo was beaming once more.

The young Florentine let out a chuckle, and pulled out the Codex pages that he'd recovered from Vieri de' Pazzi.

"Aha!" Leonardo snatched it right out of his hand, his eyes alight in curiosity and not even needing Ezio to explain. "You've found another one! How exciting!" The painter set the Codex down on about the only clear space of table that existed in the workshop. "Hmmm. This one is tricky to break... Clever in its use of ancient languages. Maybe if I just... Oh... Oh! It seems to be a manual for different assassination techniques," Leonardo smiled at Ezio innocently.

The young Florentine glanced around nervously. "May I see it?" No doubt Leonardo had heard of his killing of Alberti, and he'd repaired the hidden blade. Leonardo was a genius, there was no doubting he'd put two and two together and end up with assassin. Yet the painter never mentioned it, never discussed it.

Ezio appreciated the discretion.

Still, he didn't want Leonardo punished for harboring an Assassin as he had last time. He moved to take the Codex page, to study such techniques, but Leonardo batted his hand away.

"Wait! What's that?! It's not so much a design this time... Just a series of sketches. Hmmmm. What to make of all this... Oho! Of course!" Leonardo grabbed Ezio's left arm and started to study the hidden blade. "And why not! What an inspired idea!"

"What is it?"

"Something to help you with your work!" Leonardo smiled brightly. "Oh, to build from scratch! How intriguing! I've not done metal work before, not like this! I wonder what sort of tensile strength I can manage... maybe mixing steel with another metal? But it must remain light..."

Ezio chuckled as Leonardo was once more stuck in his own mind with designs and equations.

"Can you make it for me?" he asked.

The painter nodded. "Take the page. This design should only take a day or two. Eh Vincenzio!" Leonardo called out.

"I'll be back tomorrow then."

"Nonsense!" Leonardo grabbed Ezio's arm before he could leave. "I'll need measurements, you'll have to test a few things, you're the only one around here with the strength to... No! You must stay here tonight!"

Ezio laughed. It would give him a chance to talk of painting and perhaps how to best capture the likenesses of his deceased family.

He spent the rest of the day and well into the night discussing and talking with his friend Leonardo. It was amazing to watch how his mind flitted from one subject to the next, never settling on something unless it truly captured every aspect of his attention.

Ezio did indeed learn more of painting techniques, particularly when Leonardo kicked him to a workroom of assistants so that he could test something of the metalwork needed for the design. The assistants, Vincenzio in particular, helped Ezio get a better grasp of proportion and how to make paint show details usually too small to actually include. How to make eyes seem to follow you through a trick of perspective. The assistants made him do sketches and showed Ezio how to improve even his under-sketches to help a painting take form.

Then Leonardo was back and measuring Ezio's right forearm and having him stab clay with a dagger and measuring the depth of each strike. Indeed, Ezio was surprised at how a flighty and fanciful person could be so demanding. But he accepted the busy work as a balm to his aching heart.

"I've done it!" he exclaimed that afternoon, after Ezio had come back with the assistants from a lunch at a local tavern. "Come quickly! Look! Take it. Try it."

"Thank you, Leonardo."

"No problem!"

Ezio strapped on the bracer and practiced extending the blade and retracting it with his right hand. It was definitely useful. Already, he could see how his usual fighting with the single hidden blade could be augmented, possibly even improved upon. And he smiled that he could even think like that thanks to Ulderico's training. The assassination techniques he had read the night before once all others were asleep would take practice once he was back at Monteriggioni. Two of them required being able to heft a dead-weight body almost one-handed and the other required a precision in leaping that Ezio was certain he could accomplish from his running and leaping from buildings, but wanted to practice to make sure he even _could_ do so accurately every time. This was not something to practice in battle, and the time it would take to refine it wasn't his.

But it would be once he'd taken care of Francesco de' Pazzi.

Looking back to the painter, Ezio smiled once again.

"Truly, thank you my friend."

Leonardo actually blushed, before waving it aside. "Truly, it is nothing anyone else wouldn't do for a friend."

Ezio grasped his shoulder and nodded. "And a truly good friend you are. I must be off."

"Take care," Leonardo smiled. "And if you find any other interesting puzzles, let me know!"

Ezio chuckled as he left. It was late afternoon now and he made his way back to Paola's mansion. He didn't like having a single place to stay. After the disaster that had required him to leave Florence, he couldn't quite wrap his head around staying somewhere predictable, but there was something he needed to ask Paola.

The past two days he'd wandered and listened. Firenze was tense and shifting. Lorenzo de Medici was _Il Magnifico_, a patron of the arts and one who always made the right introductions between people. But he was known to be harsh to those who crossed him, and the Pazzi seemed to be spreading rumors of exaggerated cruelty, making some sort of silent grab for power. The people were starting to waver in their support of the Medici and the tension this generated was palpable.

However, as much as Paola's network of information was vast, one thing Ezio had learned from Mario was that the courtesans had only _one_ branch of knowledge. To find Francesco, Ezio would need the information network of someone else.

Paola treated him to dinner in her room again that night, asking how Leonardo was.

"I do wonder if the two of you have had an encounter with the way you inquire after him," Ezio chuckled.

Paola blinked, clearly surprised about something, before let out a laugh that was neither sexy nor seductive, but full of humor and amusement. "Ah, to be so young and innocent again," she gasped between giggles. "Let's just say that he and I have similar tastes."

Ezio wondered what sort of bedroom acts they might have in common that would make Paola laugh so, but brushed it aside. He sipped his wine and grabbed some berries.

"There's someone I need to 'see' while I'm here," he said seriously, switching subjects. "I cannot approach him publicly... Your girls are magnificent, but is there someone specific-"

"La Volpe," she replied quietly.

"The Fox...?"

Paola raised an eyebrow, her mysterious smile back in place. "How can anyone know one specific fox, as they all look alike?"

Ezio chuckled, acknowledging the hint for more subtlety. "I understand. But do you know where a fox might roam...?"

"Perhaps, near the Mercato, where the thieves dwell... Be safe, Ezio."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Lots of little things in this chapter, all leading up to, er certain events.

More character development of Ezio as he realizes what the role of an assassin is and what role he plays in it. Note his relationship with Claudia. The two are quite close after everything that's happened; and that important for the setup of Brotherhood - which we haven't written yet but you all sort of know what's coming anyway. Ezio's family in general is important, because that's what all of this is _for_, their safety, and neither of us are fond of the fact that they get shuffled off in the game - Maria doesn't even speak until the bitter end, and it's a great injustice that Ezio doesn't mention or think about them over the course of the game. It's even worse in Mr. Bowden's books, they're shuffled off to a convent (and Claudia considers joining it!) and utterly forgotten about. One of the greatest moments for us in Revelations was when we realized that Ezio wrote letters to Claudia. Regularly. The same goes for Mario - Monteriggioni is HIS, and yet except for memories he's _never there_. We can at least explain that away, but still. And so we throw in the family whenever we can for the novelization.

Vieri mentions last chapter that Mario is a drunkard, and he seems to have that reputation, even though he's always stone sober in all of his memories, and so we assumed that he was one of those rare people that don't suffer hangovers. Ezio has a hint of that talent, too, but he doesn't drink as often as Mario is rumored to.

Also note that Ezio shows a little maturity with Christina. Sort of. He means well, he just hasn't realized yet that women have minds, too. You'd think with figures like Mario or Paola (or even Claudia, but that's going to be a complicated story) he'd know, but we've already established he's a little slow on the uptake sometimes.

Which leads us to Leonardo and Ezio the Dim. We have fun with that. Lots. And lots. And _lots_ of fun.

Next chapter: fox hunting, tomb raiding, and this thing called the Pazzi conspiracy. What could go wrong?


	8. Death of a Banker

**Part Eight: Death of a Banker**

The following day, Ezio arrived at the Mercato Vecchio. Originally built as a Roman Forum in ancient times, it had eventually converted to a massive open-air market, filled with peddlers and merchants and wheeler-dealers; everything from grain, wool, linen, flax, pork, apothecaries, even doctors sold their business at the market. Roman arches bordered the square; perfect semicircles that topped columns forming and impressive rectangle, and always bustling with people.

He spent the morning fruitlessly searching the crowds of the Mercato, trying to make himself visible to wherever La Volpe might be watching, but not obvious to the guards that patrolled. It was a fine balance and he might have even enjoyed the challenge but as he bought some bread and cheese from one of the merchants to snack on for lunch, he couldn't help but be frustrated. Tension in the city was rising, whatever the Pazzi were planning would likely happen once it was at a breaking point, and it would be _soon_. Ezio was getting impatient. He needed to find this Fox, but he found nothing.

High above, an eagle screeched, and Ezio felt like an idiot.

Without changing what he was doing, he reached for that part of his mind that let him see the unseen. Colors faded and shadows seemed to darken as he looked at the world with fresh eyes. He walked around the market, not even looking at anything specific as he just focused on what he needed to see. Once he reached the northwest corner, he saw a flash of gold, the hit of what he was looking for.

He looked again, his focus narrowing, trying to catch what had caught his eye.

A thief bumped into him, jogging by in a hurry, and Ezio's purse suddenly felt lighter.

"What!? My pouch! - My money!"

"Oh... your money..." the thief taunted in insincere tones. "I don't have your money!" the dirty man laughed, pushing back his cap and gazing down his nose.

Ezio needed no other prompting. Monteriggioni didn't have funds truly coming in yet and while he had brought enough money to survive for a few days, he was keeping his expenses as low as he could. He couldn't _afford_ to lose such financing.

"Get back here!"

He took off running and the thief only laughed as he took off faster than a bird. Well Ezio could match that speed, and he could dance through the afternoon crowds far better than the thief. Despite wearing armor and thus, having to carry more than the thief, Ezio quickly gained on him as they ducked through alleys, stands, and at one point, a garden of a palazzo.

The thief, seeing that Ezio was catching up, decided to take to the roofs and swiftly started to climb. Well two could play at that game. Here, however, Ezio's armor _did_ slow him down compared to the thief. Once on the roofline, the thief had put great distance between them, but Ezio had raced Mario on roofs and had kept in practice in Monteriggioni, even at night.

This chase had gone on long enough. In a burst of speed, he tackled the thief onto a flat roof overlooking the Arno. They both stood, Ezio panting.

"I really have no interest in hurting you," he said between breaths. "So give me back my money and we'll call it even." Ezio acknowledged the skill of this thief; but Ezio was simply faster.

"Not so fast," a new voice interrupted. Ezio whirled, shocked that he hadn't sensed him coming, and rushed to steady his breathing. The man was in browns and faded oranges, a hood similar to Ezio's raised, though it was likely to hide his purple eyes than to hide his face as it was for Ezio.

"What do you want?" he asked cautiously. "Who are you?"

"They call me many things," the purple-eyed stranger said with confidence and an air of mystery that reminded him of Paola. "Murderer. Cutthroat. Thief. But you may call me La Volpe." He gave a grand bow. "At your service, _Messer_ Ezio."

Ezio was grateful to finally find the Fox he was looking for, but... "How do you know my name?" He took a step back, weary.

"It is my business to know everything in this city," Volpe chuckled. "Isn't that why you're here?"

"Indeed," Ezio nodded. "I need to find someone; to know where he'll be even before he does."

"Who?" Volpe crossed his arms, and smiled. Ezio suspected this thief already knew the answer.

"Francesco de' Pazzi," Ezio said and couldn't quite hold back his hatred and contempt from his voice.

"_Bene_," Volpe nodded. "I've been keeping my ears open since your uncle contacted me. There's word on the street of a caravan just arrived from Roma: A secret meeting at sunset tonight. You can likely learn something of Francesco's whereabouts there."

"Do you know where it is to be held?"

"Yes," Volpe nodded again. Glancing back, he smiled unrepentantly and added, "Oh, yes. Here's your money." He pulled the purse from the thief Ezio had been chasing and tossed it to the young Florentine. The thief laughed and hopped off the building and disappeared into another alley.

"Follow me," the Fox smiled mischievously. "But we must move fast! Think you can keep up?" There was a hint of challenge in that voice.

"Not a problem," Ezio was never one to back down from a challenge. This skinny, almost bone-thin thief needed to be taken down a peg, and Ezio had enough confidence in his speed to be able to do it.

Too bad Volpe took off like a crossbow bolt, almost gliding across the rooftops.

"What are you doing back there?" he called with a laugh, as Ezio struggled to get his already burning muscles moving. "I said to keep up with me!"

Ezio laughed at his own over-confidence.

Volpe was clearly lighter than Ezio and was fresh for the challenge. Ezio truly didn't stand a chance. And as much as it pained him every time he saw the Fox slow or wait as he tried to catch up, he was grateful that Volpe didn't just leave him in the dust.

They flew across the rooftops north and arrived overlooking the Santa Maria Novella. The oldest basilica in the city, and only just finished some eight years ago. It was resplendent with frescos inside, and funded by many of the wealthiest families of Florence, buying their own family or private chapels on sacred ground. Rumor had it the site was a church since even before the crusades, and the church rumored to hold a sacred tomb somewhere in its depths.

Ezio panted heavily while La Volpe wasn't even winded, though the young Florentine _did_ take pride that he kept up. Barely. "Here we are!" the Fox offered cheerfully. Ezio didn't even have the breath to chuckle. "Francesco de' Pazzi is meeting his people inside that church."

"How do I join them?" Ezio said once he had better control of his breath.

"There are catacombs that run under the city. They'll lead you to a place where you can eavesdrop on the meeting." The young Florentine nodded, already spying something he hadn't ever noticed before. His sharp eyes saw the skull in a triangle symbol buried in a small fountain by the church and Ezio couldn't help but feel that was his way in. After all, it was a symbol on the statues in the Sanctuary back at Monteriggioni.

"Thank you for all your help, Volpe."

"_Buona fortuna_."

Ezio nodded his thanks and dropped down to the fence of the courtyard and then down into the empty garden. He eased his way forward, opening his eyes to see all that an eagle could, and it seemed to glow in gold, indicating it was the right thing to do. Ezio poked the symbol, ran his fingers over the skull, until he happened to tug at the eyes. The skull seemed to turn, twisting until it was upside-down, revealing the stylized compass that was the symbol of the Assassin's, worn on Ezio's belt and bracer, on Mario's shoulder guard, and the fountain drained and a small tunnel that one could crawl through was revealed.

And Ezio knew there was another such symbol, another skull in an Assassin's symbol, at the Duomo. He and his brother had often commented on it when they were children, wondering why a skull was on the wall of the cathedral. Something to ponder later. For now, he had catacombs to crawl through.

Ezio cursed once he was inside. It was incredibly dark, the setting sun above casting long shadows over any crack or crevice above that could give light for Ezio to navigate by. From what little illumination he had, he grasped through old bones and cloth, apologizing to whoever existed for these poor souls of the desecration he was doing. With a femur bone as a torch covered in old dry cloth that he was somehow able to set alight with his flint.

Once properly outfitted with his light source, Ezio started to roam the catacombs. Keeping his sense of direction was tricky, as he often turned off at an angle or had to make some sort of u-turn in order to navigate. Several times he came across dead ends and needed to turn around and backtrack. Still, the time wandering helped Ezio to get his wind back after chasing a thief and then the skinny Volpe across the Florentine roofs.

From his pack he pulled some dried fruit bought earlier once his stomach rumbled. Still, it was a long time before, while looking for some trace of gold with his Eagle Vision to see where to go, that he spied an Assassin symbol of a compass in a cup. Only it wasn't upright.

Ezio at last let out a smile. It was a direction. Faint, faded, and barely seen unless one had a certain gift. At last he started to make his way through the catacombs with more confidence.

"How long do we have to stand here, Saverio? It's so cold," a voice complained in the distance. Ezio immediately dropped his improvised torch, stomping it out and relying on the echoing voices to guide him.

"What do you want, Ilario?" another voice replied. "_Messer_ Pazzi is paying us good money to watch the entrance, and the dead won't try to murder us. I can't wait to go home to Elana and tell her how much gold we made tonight!"

Ezio let out a silent sigh and hoped he wouldn't have to kill this pair of guards. He may be an Assassin, but he had no taste for killing. Guards were hired. Some were truly loyal, but by the sounds of it, those two were only loyal to the coin paid them. Pitiable. So Ezio snuck forward, using the shadows to his advantage until, at last, he saw the torchlight of the lonely guards stationed ahead of him.

He glanced down the hall of crypts, spying the two shivering by torchlight. Ezio carefully edged his way further down the hall he was on, seeking another way past them, but found no turns that would lead behind the guards.

"_Merda,"_ Ezio swore, backtracking to the narrow hall.

He was better rested, though getting tired after a long day and a longer afternoon of running around. Ezio pulled out some bread and more dried fruit, hoping it would give him the needed sustenance to face whatever lay beyond these two guards.

_I hope this Elana wishes well for you,_ Ezio offered in silent prayer.

Then he was dashing forward and in a controlled leap of over a year of practice, he knocked one of the guards down and plunged his hidden blade into the man's neck, avoiding the armor and digging in to the heart.

The other guards was already running away. "Saverio!" he called back. "I'll be back with the other guards!"

"_Requiescat in pace_," Ezio whispered, closing Saverio's eyes and hoping his death wouldn't harm this Elana person too much. Then he was off, chasing Ilario. Thankfully, the guard had grabbed the torch with him, making him incredibly easy to track as all Ezio had to do was follow the light. And with his keen eyes pinned on the fleeing Ilario, Ezio saw all the obstacles ahead and judged when he and his pace would meet them and avoid them.

"Leave me alone!" Ilerio called, "You demon! Go back to hell!"

Ezio didn't reply, letting the guard's terror trip him up.

But the catacombs were old. And one leap the guard made left stone crumbling away. Ezio couldn't follow that way, but it didn't matter. He merely hopped up the ledges to an upper ledge of stone used for the upper catacombs. The guard, though panicked, was nowhere near as fast as him and he caught up quickly.

Well, Ezio had wanted to practice, but he was fairly certain this would work.

With a flying leap, he landed on top of Ilerio, diving his blade into the man's neck as he had with Saverio. The man didn't even gurgle.

"_Requiescat in pace_ for you as well," Ezio whispered.

Ahead he could see a light and slowly he edged his way forward.

Down a series of steps was a small squad of guards, playing some sort of game around their candles. Beyond was a door and in the echoing of the catacombs, Ezio thought he heard Spanish vowels.

_Bene_, he thought, _now to get to that door without the guards noticing_.

He studied the room, with a high vaulted ceiling, likely a holy place centuries past for preparing the bodies for the catacombs behind him. That meant he was below the Santa Maria Novella. Nodding to himself, Ezio looked around and spotted a ledge high above the light of the candles. A quick glance showed a broken arch column that would lead up to it.

On near silent feet, as the guards were laughing at some dirty joke, Ezio leapt up and grasped the ledge, barely wider than his foot, and started the laborious process of edging around the room.

It took the better part of a half hour, Ezio's arms _aching_ and it was only when he was halfway around the room that his feet found footing and he was able to somewhat rest his arms. But he had made it, and he dropped down silently, the guards still unaware, and eased through the door that was so old, it couldn't even shut any more.

The voices ahead were louder now, and Ezio took a turn leading up to a higher vantage point and watched through a barred widow in the hall that circled around the meeting room. Inside, there was a type of chanting in Latin.

"_Et benedictio Dei omnipotentis, Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti descendat super vos et maneat semper_."

"_Grazie, padre_. Bernado?"

Ezio strained to look through to see the men who were talking.

"It's all here." The plump man with a feathered cap dressed in red said, gesturing to the weapons on the table. Ezio squinted. Was he Venetian? Or from San Gimignano? "Swords. Staves. Axes. Armor. Bows. Our men will want for nothing." Not Venetian, wrong accent.

"I take this gift to mean the Pope consents?" A bald priest in brown robes asked.

"He gave his blessing to the operation..." the Spaniard said, putting his hands lightly on the table. "Of course, that was only 'as long as nobody is killed'."

"We're all set for the Duomo in the morning, _Signore_," Francesco nodded. "The bait's been laid, but it wasn't easy." Francesco pushed back his curly hair and gave a wide grin. "His fool brother keeps changing his plans..."

"_Si_!" the plump Bernardo agreed. "We'll need to be on hand to make sure Guiliano even gets out of bed for church tomorrow!"

They all laughed.

Ezio found nothing to laugh at. They were planning something for Mass tomorrow? Had they no sense of honor? But Ulderico's constant reminders that not all were honorable echoed in his mind.

The Spaniard noticed that someone else wasn't laughing. "What is it, Jacopo? Do you think they suspect something?"

"Impossible!" Francesco interrupted. "The Medici are too arrogant or too stupid to even notice. Likely a bit of both."

Bernardo laughed.

The Medici? Was their plan in regards to the Medici or were they simply wary of the Medici? Guiliano Medici was Lorenzo's brother, or was it someone else entirely?

"Do not underestimate our enemies, Francesco!" Jacopo hissed. His old face creased in contempt of his relative. "Or have you already forgotten how your son was murdered?"

Vieri's father pursed his lips and turned right to Borgia. "We'll suffer no such surprises this time, _Maestro_. You have my word," he assured and bowed.

"_Molto bene_," the Spaniard nodded. "I should be off. I've some other business to attend to before I return to Rome." He looked imperiously at them. "Gentleman. Tomorrow, a new sun rises over Firenze. May the Father of Understanding guide us."

"May the Father of Understanding guide us," they all responded.

From there they dispersed, heading out and Ezio's mouth thinned. They were planning something for tomorrow during mass. Against the Medici. Unacceptable. He had to stop it. Somewhere in the crowds coming to worship, he'd find the curly-haired Francesco, and kill him.

Now he just needed to get out of here.

The way he had gone seemed the best way, but Ezio paused, his sharp eyes spying another Assassin symbol, pointing in a different direction. He followed it down an almost invisible staircase and saw a statue. One very familiar statue, from the Sanctuary. A statue of Darius. Ezio looked around with fresh interest, spying many treasures that he could sell to fund his time here in Firenze _and_ send money back to Monteriggioni to start more repairs around the town. He grabbed what he could, but before he left, his eyes went to the tomb itself.

It felt wrong to open it. This was an Assassin, a predecessor of his, in a way, and Ezio did feel a kinship. It may not have been the way he wished to live his life, but it was a part of him now. But, with a heavy sigh, Ezio pushed aside the sarcophagus's lid and looked inside.

He held back a gasp as he reached in and pulled out a seal that looked to fill in the missing spot of the statue back in Monteriggioni perfectly, one faintly engraved with a hidden blade like one of the seals to the armor of Altair. Perhaps this was a way to get to that light but sturdy armor? He'd have to test the theory when he returned.

But for now, his eyes had spied a trace of gold that would lead to his exit.

He pushed open a wall that was a hidden door and dropped down into the sewers. From here, it was easy to follow it to the Arno and climb up to a small pier. In fact, this was the southwest pier where he'd met Volpe earlier. Ezio hid a chuckle. The sun had set and he walked up the stairs, making no move to hide for wherever Volpe's men were, and found a small, cheap tavern to get a good bath at.

Cleaned and feeling much better, Ezio sat down in the tavern proper with a glass of cheap wine and a small but surprisingly good meal.

From the shadows Volpe emerged, sitting down with the young Florentine and ordering a glass of wine for himself.

"I know where Francesco will be and when. But..." Ezio said quietly.

"What is it?" Volpe asked, his eyes roaming the crowd.

"I overheard something..." Ezio replied. "They have weapons, enough for a battalion. Even the Pope has given support."

"Typical of Sixtus," the Fox spat, "but... What the hell are they planning?"

"I couldn't understand the specifics," Ezio shook his head, frustrated at having all the pieces but no proper picture of the Pazzi's plan. "But it involved the Medici. And it begins tomorrow morning, at the Duomo."

"The Medici will be there for Sunday service...," Volpe shrugged. "And the rest of Firenze. It is Easter after all."

Both Ezio and Volpe suddenly looked to each other in complete understanding. The Pazzi had been spreading dissension around Florence, building the tension. Tomorrow would be their move. "They're going to do it right in the middle of mass..." Volpe whispered, horror across his face.

"But it's also a chance for me to blend with the crowd," Ezio looked into his wine, planning, "get close, and stop this madness." And kill another Pazzi _bastardo_ who had been responsible for the death of his family.

Volpe had other concerns, however. "If they succeed... If we lose Lorenzo, and Firenze falls to the Pazzi..."

"It will not come to that. I promise," Ezio vowed. The Medici wouldn't be harmed, simply because Ezio would kill Francesco and the other people from the meeting before they even reached the Medici family. Francesco first.

"I hope you're right," Volpe shook his head. The Fox stood, saying nothing more, and weaved out of the crowd, lightening purses as he went. Ezio held in a chuckle and finished his meal. It was very late and he wanted to turn in. He needed plenty of sleep for the work he needed to do the following morning.

* * *

Easter Sunday dawned bright but cool. As the sun rose, Ezio pulled his hood over his head and merged into the crowds as they made their way _en masse_ to the Santa Maria del Fiore. As the crowds grew thicker and thicker, Ezio began changing his gate regularly, blending into the crowds and hoping he appeared invisible. The number of people milling about the cathedral easily numbered into the thousands, perhaps even as high as ten thousand; good for Ezio, but also bad, because as good as his eyes were, there _were_ limits on finding the hints of gold necessary to pick out his targets.

Frowning, he kept to the massive double doors of the cathedral, watching the church fill with people and hoping he could spy what he was looking for that way. His eyes picked out Lorenzo, bony nose and prominent forehead, escorting his wife and children and smiling happily - ignorant of whatever conspiracy the Pazzi, the Templars, had concocted for him - as he conversed with the crowds arm in arm with his wife, beautiful and elegantly dressed. Slightly behind and to the side was Lorenzo's brother Guiliano, the handsome Golden Boy and counterpart to _Il Magnifico_, also arm and arm with his wife. They walked down the central isle to their honored place at the front of the congregation.

But where was Francesco...?

There, pushing through the crowds, Ezio saw the curly dark hair of Francesco, flanked by the heavy-set Bernardo. Seeing him in the full morning light, Ezio vaguely recognized him as one of the Pazzi's bankers; perhaps that was how he was able to secure so many weapons? It didn't matter; Ezio didn't have time to think about it as he watched the two stalking towards the Medici. The young Florentine started to gently push his way through the throng of people, wanting to stop their lumbering, dangerous gate.

Over the din of the crowds, Ezio could hear Bernardo shouting. "Here, traitor!" the plump banker broke out into a run, stiletto in hand, and gave a vicious backhanded slash at Guiliano's unprotected neck, both he and his wife staring in shock at the advance. Guiliano clutched at his throat, his wife screaming to the top of her lungs, and Ezio stopped being gentle as he started to shove his way through the crowd, thickening even more as the spectators began to realize what was happening. The immaculate marble floor splattered with blood.

Guiliano stumbled to his feet, Bernardo apparently having missed a vital artery, tried to run, but only into the arms of Francesco.

Lorenzo, meanwhile, hearing the cries, turned to see his brother stabbed by the bearded Francesco.

"Guiliano!" he shouted, horrified, "No-!" He moved away from his wife and the priests he was talking to, instinctively wishing to protect his brother, and to Ezio's horror one of the bishops he was talking to pulled out a knife and grabbed Lorenzo's shoulder, spinning him around and slashing _him_ as well.

_Both_ Medici? The patrons of Florence? Would Ezio be too late for even his beloved _city_ as well as his family? Growling, Ezio pushed his way further, desperate to stop what he was seeing, the gallows superimposing over his eyes.

Francesco, gloves and blade bloody, shoved Guiliano to the heavy Bernardo who held the bleeding man in place.

"No!" he cried out, terrified. "In the name of God, I beg you, mercy!" The handsome man managed to break from Bernardo's grasp, fear giving him strength, but Bernardo only slashed again, Guiliano falling to the ground.

"No mercy for you, dog!" Francesco shouted, stabbing him brutally. Guiliano cried out, but his body stilled as well. "Die! DIE! _DIEEE!_" Francesco cried out, stabbing the body over and over and _over_ with Bernardo. His moves were clumsy, Ezio could see as the man's rage overtook him. He thought Francesco might have stabbed his own leg, but Ezio couldn't examine it further as he tried with renewed vigor to shove his way through the throngs. In less than a minute Guiliano was dead and the young assassin _still_ had not gotten close enough to stop it.

Lorenzo was still fighting off a priest, another man Ezio recognized, Antonio Maffei, a monk that sometimes visited the villa Auditore. Even he...? Lorenzo was a better fighter than his brother it seemed, or at least was matched to a monk with no formal training. He shoved Maffei away, drawing his sword and holding it menacingly to the monk. Maffei and the other clergymen all but ran from the scene, deeper into the belly of the cathedral**, **but Francesco had finished brutalizing the Medici's brother and stood, covered in blood, and tossed his knife aside, drawing his sword to match Lorenzo.

"Your day is _done_, Lorenzo!" he shouted. "_Your entire family dies by my sword!_" He charged and gave a brutal swing that Lorenzo deflected with some skill. The second strike was much more precise, and Lorenzo, wounded, was pushed back.

Ezio had had enough. At _last_ he pushed the last of the crowd aside and drew his sword, brazenly stepping between the Pazzi and the Medici and deflecting a third strike.

Francesco swung mercilessly, but he had been trained to duel, not to _fight_, and Ezio had no problem deflecting blows over and over. He did not risk a counterstrike, determined to keep himself between the raving Francesco and Lorenzo de' Medici. "You brought this on yourself!" he was shouting, "Die! Just _die_!"

"No one else is dying today," Ezio growled, deflecting another strike. "Except for you!"

A pair of city guards entered the church, flanking Francesco in attacking Ezio. The nineteen-year-old firmly kept himself planted in front of Lorenzo, until the patron sidestepped one of Ezio's swings and delivered a quick and precise strike on one of the guards, slashing him under the arm and circling a counterstrike back. His footing stumbled, slightly, and Ezio took up the place, circling the sword of the second city guard away. He saw Francesco running away, a _coward_ like his son, and Ezio grunted under a surprisingly strong swing, forcing him to refocus on the battle and kill the guard he was fighting.

For a moment, there was quiet, and Ezio took a breath.

"You... saved my life," Lorenzo said, panting and incredibly pale. The slash that Maffei had given him was under his ear, close to his neck.

"It's nothing," Ezio started to say, but whatever strength Lorenzo had at last seeped out of him, and the patron of Florence sank heavily to his knees. Ezio dropped his words and quickly closed the distance between he and Lorenzo, kneeling down and grabbing the man's shoulders to prevent him from falling over completely. "_Signore_!" he said. He looked out across the giant square, the crowds had all but disappeared in terror, and the hooded man could see a veritable _flood_ of city guards begin to descend upon them. "It's not safe for us here," he said quickly, turning back to the bleeding Lorenzo. "Do you know of a place we can go?" His first thought had been the villa, but his childhood home would never be safe again.

"To my home..." Lorenzo said. "People I can trust there..." Blood was streaming down his neck and across his robes, staining everything. His face was absolutely white, as were his lips; he was sweating, and he couldn't seem to get enough air.

"Hang on, _Signore_!" Ezio said, throwing an arm over his shoulders and wrapping his hand around the patron's waist. "I'll get you there."

Carrying more than dragging, Ezio hauled Lorenzo to his feet and dashed as quickly as the extra weight could carry him. Much as he _burned_ with killing Francesco for the man's many, _many_ sins, his first priority was protecting _at least one man_. If he couldn't save his family from the gallows, he would be _damned_ if he would fail _Il Magnifico_, the patron of Florence and close friend of his father's.

A fire blocked the first alley Ezio would have taken, and Ezio was forced to take a main street. Everywhere he looked city guards were battling with Medici guards, sword-fighting filled the streets. Civilians were nowhere to be seen, but many eyes watched in horror from the windows. Blood and entrails and feces were everywhere, bodies littered the streets in an unmitigated riot. Ezio had never seen his beloved city look like this, and all he could feel was rage against the Pazzi, the Templars, for the thinking that atrocities like _this_ were acceptable.

Lorenzo seemed to be mirroring his thoughts. Panting though he was, he saw the state of his precious city as well, and he let out a low growl.

"Francesco de' Pazzi," he grunted, strength under the low moan of his voice. "I'll kill him; I'll wipe his entire family from the city! They'll be _erased_!"

The anger made him faint, however, and his legs buckled, leaving Ezio to stumble with the weight he was carrying.

"Be still, _Signore_," the Florentine said. "Conserve your energy, or I'll be delivering a corpse."

The Medici moaned, apparently senseless. Ezio cursed and tried to increase his speed. He finally found an alley they could duck through, and Ezio quickly turned north towards the Palazzo Medici. Time was against him, he didn't know how serious Lorenzo's injury was, but bleeding from the neck certainly could not be a good thing. He could not stop to let Lorenzo rest, but all the running about and avoiding the virtual forest of swords was decidedly _not helping_ the injury. Ezio finally forced himself to stop long enough to readjust the Medici's weight, lifting him and balancing him across his shoulders. He could run a little more freely now, and it gave him a burst of speed as he cut down one street, around a throng of civilians crying out in outrage. Someone saw them, and Ezio heard a high-pitched shriek.

"_Il Magnifico!_ He's _dead_!"

"We can't stand for this!"

_Just_ what Ezio needed. He ducked into another alley and cut immediately into a courtyard, the mob blowing right by him. Panting, he left when he was certain they were alone and once more began his trek north.

"We're almost there now..." he muttered softly.

"Good," Lorenzo moaned, conscious once more. Ezio took that as a good sign and prayed to his father that his long-time friend would stay awake.

The streets slowly filled with Medici guards instead of city guards, and those city guards that spotted Ezio and Lorenzo were quickly waylaid by the men loyal to the Medici. "Get him to the house!" one of the loyalists cried out, and Ezio nodded, running out of breath.

They arrived at the palazzo and saw yet another mob in the front of the house. Frustrated, Ezio growled. "How can we get past that?" he muttered.

Lorenzo groaned. "Servant entrance," he muttered. "Back alley..."

"Of course, _signore_," he said, moving at a right angle and finding the alley he wanted. He circled around the _palazzo_ and found the servant's entrance Lorenzo had suggested. He set the patron of Florence down on his feet, half leaning him against the doorframe, and pounded on the wooden door.

"I have Lorenzo de' Medici!" he shouted, "He's been wounded! Open the door!"

"_Il Magnifico_ is dead!" a male voice inside shouted. "You can't fool us!"

"He's not dead!" Ezio shouted, pounding on the door again. He kicked it as well, desperate concern for Lorenzo fueling him. "_Guiliano_ is dead, _Lorenzo_ survived! He needs a doctor! Open up damn it, or he'll bleed out! I did not carry him through riots and bloodshed to watch him _die!_"

A peephole slid open, and Ezio recognized the helmet of a Medici guard. Cold, narrow eyes assessed Ezio. "What's the password?" he demanded.

Lorenzo struggled to his feet and swung into the sight of the peephole. "Poliziano!" he growled, his voice hoarse as blood spurted out from his neck again. "Open the _maldetta_ door!"

Ezio could see the man's eyes triple in size.

"By the Thrice Greatest! He's alive!"

The door opened quickly and the man, Poliziano gestured the two enter. "Come in. Quickly! The city is at war! Hurry!"

The Medici man quickly grew to a swarm of five men; everyone grabbing Lorenzo and carrying him through the kitchen and servant quarters, into a grandiose foyer and up a stairwell to an elaborate chamber Ezio assumed was Lorenzo's bedroom. Poliziano was shouting orders left and right: sending one man to get a doctor, ordering maids to grab any and all towels, demanding the guards to man every entrance to the _palazzo_. Ezio watched, half-guarding Lorenzo before finally settling for taking a post by the patron's door, looking at every face that came in and out of the room. The doctor arrived with surprising speed, wax coat half open and mask horribly askew as he was half led, half dragged into Lorenzo's chamber. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief with his arrival, and soon everyone else shy of a few maids was whisked out for whatever surgery or treatment was necessary. More than a few guards milled about, uncertain what to do before the man from the door - Poliziano - started ordering them back to their posts.

That left just the two of them. Poliziano was dressed as a guard, but only barely, in ill-fitting armor that was hastily and erroneously put on, the effort of a man unfamiliar with armor but wanting its protection. It was several hours later when the man spoke.

"... I'm sorry I doubted you," he told Ezio.

The young Florentine waved it off. "I don't blame you," he said.

"Information has been haphazard at best," Poliziano explained. "Rumors or half-understood sightings, worry turning into fear turning into fact. I still don't know what happened other than the Medici were attacked at the Duomo. The men that were there were at a distance, more than a few said both were dead, but if Lorenzo is alive, then Guiliano might..." he shook his head. "I need _information_."

"Then I will provide it," Ezio said, rolling his shoulders and lowering his hood, realizing belatedly it was still on.

The poorly armored man blinked. "You... you were there?"

"I saw everything," Ezio said. He gave a quick and clinical account of what happened, explaining how Lorenzo's brother had been brutalized by Francesco and the heavy-set man named Bernardo, of the treachery of the monk Antonio Maffei and one of the bishops, of Lorenzo's quick sword work and his own attempt to save them, of his journey through the streets and how many thought he was carrying Lorenzo's corpse.

"That explains it," Poliziano said, pulling off his too-big helmet and running a gloved hand through his hair. "No wonder the citizens are crying for blood."

"A sign of loyalty for their beloved patron," Ezio said, shrugging. "I would have done no less, had I still lived here."

"You're a Florentine?"

"I... was," Ezio said slowly, hesitant to give his name to a man who could order his execution.

"Sir! A report!" a guard said, coming down the immaculate hall. "The city guards are attacking the Palazzo della Signoria, they're trying to find and kill the _Gonfaloniere_! People are saying the papal bankers and the Salviati are behind this as well as the Pazzi. Jacopo de' Pazzi has been killed and thrown out a window; reports indicate his body is being dragged naked through the streets. Guiliano's body has disappeared, the men guarding it were all found dead in a courtyard near the Santa Maria Novella - how they got all the way over there I don't know, but some say he's resurrected and hiding near the Arno. Federico da Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino has been spotted outside the city with troops; it looks like he's preparing to attack. Many Pazzi are being gathered together and summarily executed by the citizens, we're trying to stop them but-"

**"**Do not try," said a new voice, and Ezio and Poliziano both turned to see Lorenzo, pale and drawn, leaning on the doorframe to his chambers. Bandages were wrapped around his neck, and he clutched his injury. He was white as his linens, but his face was set in grave determination.

"We are _Florentines_," he muttered, his voice a hoarse rasp after the surgery. "I refuse to let the city that I love lower themselves to _animals_, acting and reacting to whatever ignites their rage. They are better than that; _we_ are better than that. It's why we have a _Gonfaloniere_ and a _Signoria_; it's why we elect our officials every two months, it's why we are _Firenze_. I will not let our people reduce themselves, even if," Lorenzo winced, pain threatening to overtake him, "_Even if they killed my brother._" He turned hard eyes to Poliziano. "Take me to the Palazzo."

"_Signore_!" he protested. "You are not well enough-"

"He is right, _Signore_," Ezio said, touching Lorenzo's shoulder. "Rallying the citizens will do little good if the effort kills you. Rest first, and when you are strong enough you can do what is necessary."

Lorenzo paused, his gaze fixing slowly on the nineteen-year-old. "You," he said softly, recognition filling his eyes. "I am in your debt," he said, sagging against the frame. The poorly dressed Poliziano led him to a chair in his cambers. "Tell me. Why did you help me?"

Ezio hesitated at first, a hundred thoughts running through his mind; but this was Lorenzo de' Medici, _Il Magnifico_ and patron of his father's. To hide his identity would be dishonorable, and as to why...? Three bodies swinging in the gallows filled his mind.

"... You are not the only one who lost a brother to the Pazzi," he said simply, emotion filling his face. "My name is Ezio Auditore."

The man beside him stiffened, obviously recognizing the name, and Lorenzo's eyes widened, looking at the young Florentine anew. "You're Giovanni's son..." he whispered. A slow, sad smile bloomed on his face, and he leaned back in his seat, still clutching his neck. "Your father was a good man. He understood honor, loyalty."

"Sir!" the guard who had originally been giving a report said, daring to interrupt. "The Pazzi thugs are storming the Palazzo della Signoria. We can't hold them off much longer... If they get inside, they'll murder our supporters and put their own devils in power!"

Lorenzo winced, weak but struggling to his feet. "Then my survival will mean nothing," he rasped, swaying. "I have to..." But his legs gave out again, and the guard, Poliziano, the doctor, and Ezio all lifted the patron of Florence back to his bed. Lorenzo reached out and grabbed Ezio's sleeve. "Francesco de' Pazzi..." he said, breathing hard. "Help save our city, Auditore... Kill him." His eyes were cold, hard even in their pain.

"You have my word, _Signore_," Ezio promised, holding the Medici's hand. "Rest, knowing that Francesco is as good as dead."

Lorenzo nodded, the motion causing pain in his wound, and Ezio departed with the badly armored Poliziano. "Do you know where Francesco is now?" he asked.

Poliziano was already demanding information, three different guards coming forward to answer the question.

"_Signore_!" one man, a rookie with a bloody arm, said, "I saw Francesco lead a battalion around the back of the Palazzo della Signoria. I fear he may be seeking another way in."

"_Bene_," Ezio said, appreciating the information. "I know a way up the Palazzo, I can sneak up on him from behind."

"Take some of the guards with you."

"Forgive me, _messere_, but I can be more invisible if I am alone."

Poliziano frowned, before nodding his head. "Just like your father," he said, making Ezio blink. "Go," he ordered. "Before it's too late. Do what you can."

Ezio nodded and, to the surprise of the guards, opened a window and leapt to a balcony across the street, climbing up to the rooftops. The sun was starting to disappear on the horizon and Ezio used the long shadows to his advantage as he raced across the roofs of Florence, trying not to look down to the horror of the streets. Pazzi thugs and the troops they'd hired were fighting with Medici guards and citizens alike. Indeed, the citizens were probably the most brutal fighters, many shouting for vengeance that any would dare harm the patron that had made Florence so prosperous. But such brutal riots left many bodies in its wake.

That didn't stop Ezio from dropping down to take part.

Since he had learned down in the catacombs that he could assassinate from above with the same skill he used for leaping from rooftop to rooftop, he couldn't stop the desire to help those were once his fellow citizens. If ever he saw a group out numbered, or about to be ambushed, he rained down from above, knives digging into the chinks of mercenary armor and then he himself would drop, his hidden blade sinking into one or two aggressors. The citizens didn't even seem to notice. Not at first.

But as the moon rose and Ezio dove into a fray again, starting to feel winded from constantly having to climb back up to the rooftops to avoid getting pulled into every scuffle, it seemed that the people he saved would pay attention. Some merely nodded their heads. One woman forcefully grabbed Ezio into her home as he was climbing her window and forced some bread down his throat while thanking him over and over for saving _Il Magnifico_ before shooing him back out to the chaos. A man saw Ezio digging his throwing knives out of a victim's back and wordless tossed fresh blades over.

It felt... good. After being labeled a traitor and having to flee, people acknowledging him as a hero was... pleasant. Even a touch flattering and embarrassing, but Ezio could work out those feelings later. Standing on one of the office buildings of the _Signore_ and their assistants, he looked down, for the first time, to the piazza where his family had died. His heart dipped, sorrow weighing down, but it was easily managed and put aside as the chaos below overshadowed his grief. The Medici men were barricaded in front of the Palazzo Vecchio. Troops were marching forward, their commanders on horseback, but not getting far due to the sheer _size_ of the mob between them. Citizens from all walks of life, be it brothels, artisans, farmers, construction workers, tailors, blacksmiths, heralds, everyone was there with a weapon of some kind to resist these foreign invaders under the Duke of Urbino's banner with the Pazzi by their sides.

Never, _never_, had Ezio been so proud to be a Florentine.

He called for the vision of his eagle, seeking to find Francesco de' Pazzi in this crowd of thousands. There were no traces of gold, but his ears caught a breath of something and Ezio immediately looked up, looking straight into the maddened eyes of Francesco who stood atop the ramparts of the Palazzo Vecchio.

"You, again!?" the Pazzi son growled. "Why aren't you dead? - Men! Slaughter him!"

Well that was all well and good, b_ut is that jackass blind or what hi_s men were down in the square and Ezio was alone on the rooftops. Indeed, Ezio had climbed this building once before, when he was still an unconditioned, inexperienced boy, to speak to his father for what would be the last time. Now he was a warrior, with over a year of training, and a sharp desire to see this _bastardo_ dead for all the chaos he'd wrought.

Ezio ran right up to the Palazzo Vecchio and started to climb. The moon was not hidden this time, and he bore much more experience in his arms and back. It was incredibly easy to scale up to the battlements and climb further still, unlike his previous journey.

"Oh! The boy thinks himself a swordsman," Francesco taunted from above. "So you've drawn some blood! My men will make short work of you!"

Ezio angered against his will. He'd worked _hard_ on his skills and they were _not_ to be underestimated by this pampered _dog_! But even though he was angered, Ulderico's lessons were now an ingrained part of him and he just kept climbing. He reached the lower ramparts where guards were waiting for him and pulled out his sword. The fight was quick and clearly unbalanced in Ezio's favor. These were Pazzi bodyguards, who had apparently gone soft over the years. Ezio had sliced open the neck of one and then cut off the leg of another without even breaking step.

"Stop!" Francesco cried. "You're only delaying your inevitable and painful end! What do you think you're proving? That you're a loyal servant to that dog, Lorenzo? Death shall be your reward! Guards-! _Guards_!"

Ezio climbed to the upper battlements and stood easily on the edges, walking along them with the practiced grace of all his training.

"No one's coming..." he said coldly. "It's just us now."

Francesco also climbed to the edges of the ramparts. "Damn it! Damn you to hell!" he cursed. "Get the hell away from me!"

"There is nowhere for you to run," Ezio growled. "You've turned the citizens of Firenze into animals seeking your blood. If you drop, they'll just rip you to pieces."

The Pazzi son started to swear in earnest, glancing down at the mob and Medici guards who were easily beating back the troops. He weighed his chances carefully as Ezio continued to stalk closer and closer. Finally Francesco made a break for the door that lead back inside. Ezio leapt forward, his blade plunging into the coward's back, in almost the exact same spot as Lorenzo had been stabbed by the bishop.

"Now Firenze will judge you for what you have done," Ezio said quietly.

"It's over... It's all over..." Francesco gasped.

"...Better to be content in this life, than aspire to it in the next. _Requiescat in pace_." Ezio ran his hidden blade over the man's throat ending his life. Anger course through him, he felt veins pulsing in his forehead, but he remembered Mario's gut-punch, and his feelings of Vieri after his death, and he forced himself to stand and resist the temptation.

The door burst open and Medici men came out, seeking to assess the situation.

"Is that... Francesco de' Pazzi?" a lieutenant asked.

"I know just what to do with it," the captain said grimly. "Help me bring him down."

None of them noticed Ezio's white shadow ducking back over the rooftops.

The young Florentine went back to helping the crowds down below, staying out of sight and picking only those in dire need of help. The foreign troops and Pazzi supporters barely ever had a chance to glance at him before he was disappearing up the dark buildings in the shadows of moonlight. Things were clearly starting to flow into a Florentine and Medici victory.

Jacopo, however, arrived on his horse to rally his troops in the _piazza_. Ezio kept his sharp eyes on him once he noticed him. Lorenzo's reports that the head of the Pazzi was dead and dragged naked through the streets seems to have been exaggerated. Watching carefully from the rooftops, trying to plot a course to the elder Pazzi through the chaotic crowd below.

"Liberty! Liberty! Liberty! People and liberty!" the old Pazzi head shouted. His troops picked up the cry, morale starting to rise and the Florentines stepped back in line with the Medici guards, readying for the worst.

The chanting didn't last, however.

"Francesco...?"

Ezio's sharp ears caught the startled gasp as the citizens and Medici men both tossed Francesco's naked body over the Loggia dei Lanzi in the corner of the piazza, built by Cosimo de' Medici, Lorenzo's grandfather for German mercenary pikeman that had been converted as a large gathering place for ceremonies like swearing in _Gonfaloniere_ or the Priore. Above Francesco's swinging body the Medici guards cheered and clapped, causing the citizens and barricaded Medici men to cheer as well, marking a clear victory for the Medici and Florence.

And as the crowd cheered and Ezio lowered himself to the crowds, Jacopo kicked his heels in his horse's sides and took off at a sharp gallop, escaping what the mob would do to him once they got their hands on him.

The Pazzi forces started to retreat; leaving the Palazzo della Signoria in Medici hands. Ezio nodded to himself, exhausted after such a long day, and headed back to the rooftops. He made his way back to the Palazzo de' Medici and found an empty guardhouse. It would be a good place to catch some sleep before checking in on Lorenzo the following morning.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Whew, what to say about this chapter.

This is a Lorenzo chapter. However much he SUCKED as a Banker, he was a free-thinker, looking back to Roman and Greek classics and cultivating their thoughts and ideas with the other Humanists, and he was _great_ for introducing patrons to budding artists like Leonardo or Michelangelo. He was called _Il Magnifico_ for a reason, and as an established friend of Giovanni Auditore, it is not much of a stretch for Ezio to see Lorenzo as a semi-father figure, an image of home (re: Florence) and a connection to his father that he wants to cultivate. With such an important influence over Ezio, the two of us bent over backwards to make his scenes - these and later ones - to make some kind of impression on Ezio and help shape him. Lorenzo's words about rising above people's instincts pops up later in the fic (see if you can't find it!) and his dedication to the people of Florence is something that will shape Ezio much later down the road (re: Brotherhood). He's... fatherly; in a way Mario isn't (and can't) be for Ezio.

The Pazzi conspiracy itself we tried to keep historically accurate as we could. It takes place inside the Duomo instead of outside, Francesco screws up and stabs his leg, and if you pay close attention to the "rumors" that are reported to Poliziano you might realize they're true to the real history. Poliziano, fyi, isn't a guard like he's portrayed in the game, but a scholar.

Ezio's emotional fallout for this isn't really felt in this chapter, it all happens so fast he hasn't really had time to process it. He certainly feels the hatred for the Pazzi, Mr. Bowden is right in the fact that killing Frencesco de' Pazzi is almost as personal as killing Vieri, but Ezio also has his conversation with Mario in his head, and his talks with Claudia. It reads fast, but there's so much going on, as we said, that sometimes you just sort of ride the wave of the event.

Next chapter: assassin contracts, bonding with Lorenzo (more of it, any way), and another seal. See you next week.


	9. Favors from Lorenzo

**Part Nine: Favors from Lorenzo**

At dawn Ezio entered the house, this time welcomed immediately by Poliziano, and was ushered into the house to an ornately decorated chamber. Ezio immediately recognized the frescoes as the Procession of the Magi, b_ut "Oh, my God, that's the Magi Chapel!" Shut up Shaun! th_e people depicted were all distinctly Medici. Ezio marveled at the exquisite art, and looked to the man standing in it, gazing at the frescoes while still gingerly holding his neck.

"... When I was six years old I fell into the Arno," Lorenzo said, staring at the chapel. "I soon found myself drifting down into the darkness, certain my life was at an end. Instead, I woke to the sound of my mother weeping. At her side stood a stranger, soaking and smiling at me. My mother explained that he had saved me." Lorenzo turned and stared at Ezio, his face a complex mix of emotions before finally settling on a sad smile. "And so began a long and prosperous relationship between two families: yours and mine."

Ezio blinked, having never known how his father had met Lorenzo, only that they had been old friends, the patron was barely twenty-nine, the young Florentine was surprised to learn they had been close for so long. It was another facet of his father's life he knew nothing of, and Ezio felt very young and very curious.

"What was he like, my father?" he asked. "I feel like I hardly knew him, I didn't know he was an Assassin until... after."

Lorenzo nodded, still smiling sadly. "He was an honorable man in the truest sense of the word; a very rare find. After he saved me as a child, he came to visit me often. He was... something of a Mentor." He turned slightly, pointing out one of the men in the fresco. "There he is, do you see him? My mother asked that he be included, and my grandfather agreed."

_"Wait, you mean that's Giovanni Audi-" SHUT UP SHAUN!_

Ezio stepped closer to the fresco, admiring the Tuscan countryside and the Italian and Turkish men, looking at the very back of the procession, the smallest characters in the piece. The details were hard to make out, but Ezio could see his father's nose, and his eyes suddenly watered, making him look away.

"I am sorry I could not save your father and brothers," Lorenzo said, pulling his hand away from his injury and placing it on Ezio's shoulder.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Ezio replied quickly, blinking his eyes rapidly and rubbing them.

Lorenzo watched Ezio compose himself, before smiling again, and leading him out of the frescoed chapel, down the opulent marble hallways and to the inner courtyard, surrounded instead by arches and columns and recessed statues. "My grandfather," he said, "was a very wise man. He told us often that men with money had power, but only so long as the people allowed it. He often rode an ass instead of a horse, saying it made him less conspicuous if the people revolted. I grew up terrified of the people, wondering when they would rise up against me. It was your father who taught me that the best way to prevent a revolt - indeed the best way to ensure prosperity - is to keep the people happy." Lorenzo paused for a moment, letting his words sink in, before adding, "Your father was the type of man that made me the way I am, Ezio. He was the type of man that made you, who saved my life without a thought to your own safety. _That_ was the kind of man he was."

That... that...

Something swelled in Ezio, making him stand a little taller and a little prouder, making him unexpectedly smile.

The moment hung between them, rich and warm and good, before Lorenzo asked, "What will you do now?"

"Immediately, there are some friends in the city I would like to see, let them know I am all right. After that, though, I have more work to do. I believe Jacopo de' Pazzi played a part in my family's deaths, the attack on you as well. I saw him in the Piazza before Francesco was hung, I need to find him."

Lorenzo nodded, looking away in anger. "That coward fled before we could arrest him."

"Have you any leads?"

"No. They've hidden themselves well."

"They?" Ezio asked, blinking.

"Jacopo was not the only conspirator to escape," Lorenzo said. "Over the last several hours our information has become much more reliable as the riots are beginning to settle. There are four others, perhaps more, directly involved in the conspiracy, and many others who are just dupes."

Ezio nodded, turning the information over in his mind. "... If they work with Jacopo, they were surely involved in the plot against my family as well. Give me their names."

Lorenzo looked at the nineteen-year-old for a long time, measuring, before saying: "Antonio Maffei, Archbishop Francesco Salviati, Stefano de Bagnone and Bernardo Baroncelli."

"_Bene_. I will go and see my uncle when I am finished here. He has men stationed in the countryside."

"Wait... Before you go," Lorenzo said, touching his neck. "Firenze still has need of your skills. I will try to protect the innocent dupes of this plot, but the ones involved in this conspiracy, they must suffer the consequences of their choice. Poliziano is a competent man, but there are limits to what he and his men can do as scholars and not guards. Would it be possible for me to retain your services for a short time, until the worst of this crisis has past?"

"Of course, _Maestro_," Ezio said, honored to be of service to _Il Magnifico_, moreover because of the trust Lorenzo had in him and the relationship he had with his father.

"_Maestro_," Poliziano said, coming up, "We have all the documents recovered from the Pazzi compounds. You said you wanted to see them at once."

"Of course," Lorenzo said, turning to Ezio with a soft, cruel smile, "Seeing as he clearly no longer needs them." He added, "Would you like to take a look? We may find some clues as to where those men are hiding."

"Yes."

For the next three hours they perused the volumes and volumes of books, ledgers, letters, and half-scrapped notes looking for information. Several documents were very old; Lorenzo eyed them appreciatively and made a separate pile for them. When Ezio looked in askance he said, "I've always had an interest of things of antiquity. As did your father." The young Florentine nodded, going back to the accounts he had been rifling through before a particular scroll caught his eye.

"A Codex page!"

Lorenzo looked up. "A what?"

Ezio frowned, uncertain how to explain. "... It is a piece of a document my father was collecting before... before. I recognize the script and the decorative boarder. Francesco's son had several pages on him, and now Francesco himself..." He flipped through the pages, the writing of the ancient assassin Altair, who had also lost someone dear to the Templars. He wondered what secrets these pages contained. "It is meaningful to me," he said, looking up to Lorenzo.

"Then consider this a gift," Lorenzo said, pulling out similarly marked pages from his pile of older documents. "It is the very least I can do for you."

"Thank you, Maestro."

They combed through the documents for another hour but found no other Codex pages, and the two left the _palazzo_, Lorenzo to the Palazzo della Signoria to try and save the innocent men from the outraged people, Ezio to a certain painter who was no doubt very worried after the previous night's terror. The young Florentine navigated the streets easily, hood up and weary of more fights but feeling good about himself, and when he arrived in the San Giovanni district he quickly found Leonardo's studio and knocked on the door.

"Ezio!" Leonardo cried, opening the door in a hurry. Relief flooded the twenty-six year old man's face. "Thank God you're all right! This madness with the Medici and the Pazzi..." he said, ushering his friend in. "People have been running about hither and yon all morning, swords drawn and blood on their minds. I saw the hangings last night; I have some of them sketched... My assistants are all late this morning, one of them sent word that his uncle died in last night's riots, and one of my patron's died, too... But never mind that, did you take any injury? I have no doubt you were in the thick of it, is it why you pursued Francesco?"

"Not exactly..." Ezio said, the flurry of words confusing him.

"Well, whatever your reasons, the city will be safe again - thanks to you! Now tell me: how may I be of service? Would you like something to eat? I'm sure I can scrounge something up in this mess..."

"Leonardo, take a breath," Ezio said, laughing slightly at his friend's enthusiasm. He pulled out his freshly discovered Codex pages, handing the bundle over to the painter.

"Ah! Another page!" Eagerness flooded Leonardo's eyes, and the blonde all but snatched the pages out of Ezio's hands, unrolling the scrolls and immediately shoving a clean space onto his workbench. Ezio, now knowing what to expect, stepped back and watched.

"Aha! It's similar to the last one, how very boring... This won't take long..." He grabbed a quill and started his work, and Ezio wandered around the studio, staring at the paintings and reproductions, eying the odd bits of metal and wood that made some kind of contraption, running his hands over the ever-present drapings and half made still-lifes. He thought of his father's portrait in the Medici house, and he smiled slightly, glad that his father had been immortalized in some small way.

"Interesting!" Leonardo said, looking up and rubbing his small beard. "Oh, indeed... I see... It's another blade design, for delivering poison."

Ezio perked, wondering how a _blade_ could deliver _poison_. "Can you build it?" he asked, incredulous.

"_Si_," Leonardo said, "A challenge of a different kind." He walked right up to Ezio, grabbing his hidden blade and inspecting it, muttering to himself. "It won't take very long, I just need to find a way to hollow out the blade without sacrificing the-" Leonardo looked up, embarrassed as he realized how familiar he was being, how close he was.

Ezio shook his head. "It's all right, Leonardo," he said, already unbuckling his father's bracer. The man's curiosity took over everything, including social decorum. "Just do what you need to do."

"Excellent," Leonardo said, "How exciting! Come see me in a day or two, the design should be done by then."

"_Bene_, I'll see you then."

Ezio left an excited Leonardo just closing the door before one of the assistants, Vincenzo, darted up. They nodded to each other and Ezio took to the streets again, pulling his hood up and making his way northeast, past the Duomo and to the Rosa Colta. It was midday now, and he stopped off for a quick loaf of bread before entering the brothel. One of the girls recognized him, and he was quickly ushered to the back garden, surrounded by flowering trellis and fruity scents.

Paola arrived, her footfalls soft whispers of silk. Her arched eyebrows were pulled together slightly, as if examining him, before she nodded. "I take it you were successful," she said slowly, "In finding La Volpe."

Ezio grinned. "Perhaps."

"And it would appear that you have survived the night without injury."

"A great miracle, I'm sure."

Paola smiled. "I doubt you've eaten. If you're anything like your father you must be half-starved." She clapped her hands sharply, one of the courtesans appearing from somewhere, clearly skilled at being invisible. "Lunch," Paola ordered, and soon Ezio saw a small table and chairs set up in the back garden in the shade of the trellis, food and wine all but appearing. "Sit," she ordered when the work was finished, "And relax knowing that you are safe here."

"Thank you, _Madonna_," he said, taking seat. Paola joined him, and for the next forty minutes there was no need to talk. Full and satisfied, Ezio leaned back in his tiny chair, wiping his mouth with a napkin and feeling oddly content. It took him a moment to realize that he knew this feeling: this was the feeling of a job well done; when he'd delivered a letter for his father in record time, or when his mother praised him in some feat that he'd accomplished. It was still hard to think about his family, but he was glad that he felt like this, as well. It was a sign that he might, someday, move past the tragedy.

"Your mind is heavy with thought," Paola interrupted, still sipping her wine.

"It is," Ezio admitted. "I am thinking about my father."

The matron of the brothel nodded, smiling enigmatically. "Any thoughts of Giovanni are often heavy," she said, "he was that kind of man."

"... How did you know him?" Ezio asked.

Paola's eyes darkened in memory, a hand going over her covered wrist and the network of scars on it. "He was a lawyer as well as a banker, did you know that?"

"_Si_, he was often helping the _Gonfaloniere_," Ezio replied slowly.

"He represented me at a murder trial," Paola said. "And after I was acquitted, he took in my sister to keep her safe, and gave me the finances to begin this." She gestured to the brothel. "He was a _fine_ man."

Ezio's eyes misted again, and he looked down. The courtesan reached across the table and took his hand, and they stayed like that for a while before Ezio composed himself.

That night, he wrote a letter to Claudia, giving a very brief account of the events in Florence and explaining how he would likely be stuck there until things had died down. He shared what he had learned of their father from Lorenzo and Paola - what he could on paper - and said he would tell her more when he returned. He also asked her to tell Mario there were more names to the list, again not getting specific, and apologizing; saying she would get the full story when he returned.

The next morning, letter tucked in his pouch; he left Rosa Colta's soft couches and softer moans to the bright streets of Florence, late spring making the air warm and comfortable. He had no idea how to contact La Volpe and tell him of his safety, but he suspected the thief already knew, and instead dropped by Leonardo's, the blond painter barely noticing him as mulled over different scraps of metal and knocking on them, trying to determine something. The assistant Vincenzo apologized profusely for his master, working on a reproduction of a painting in one corner of the studio. Ezio leaned over the assistant's shoulder and nodded. His style was similar to Leonardo's, and Ezio liked what he saw.

"When you finish your apprenticeship," he told Vincenzo, "I want you to come to Monterrigioni. We might have some work for you."

"R-Really?" the assistant asked, wide-eyed. "Thank you! _Messer_, thank you!"

"Leonardo!" Ezio called out from across the studio, "When Vincenzo here is done with his apprenticeship, I'm stealing him!"

The blond looked up, utterly slack-jawed. Ezio laughed at the expression and bid his goodbyes, knowing it would be a while yet before he had his bracer back.

Lorenzo was not at his _palazzo_ when Ezio arrived, but the scholar Poliziano was. "I think the mess is dying down," he said slowly. "I've been putting more of the _Maestro's_ guards, many of them fellow humanists, on the streets, and most of the fighting has ebbed. Now it's just a matter of rounding up the leftovers."

"I see. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"_Si_, there's a man who works in the _Signoria_, we've just learned that he helped the Pazzi turn people against the _Maestro_. He's been missing since Sunday, and rumor has it he's arranging a meeting to be smuggled out of the city."

Ezio nodded, understanding. "Can you give me his name?"

Poliziano gave more than a name; he gave a description, family members, _Signoria_ title and duties, as well as known associates. Thanking the scholar, Ezio bade his farewells, noticing a child watching him from a doorway. He smiled, but the boy ducked away, apparently shy, and Ezio was on his way. The young Florentine took to the roofs, looking out over the skyline of the city to determine his direction, the Duomo and the Palazzo della Signoria to the southeast. Should he start there? No, the man was in hiding, and more likely as far from the government as possible. That meant west, in the Santa Maria Novella district. Ezio took off in that direction, seeing the church the district was named after as well as the San Lorenzo, trying to figure out how he could find the man. Ezio had had a hard enough time finding Francesco, and that had been with the help of-

Grinning, Ezio adjusted his course slightly, and within the hour he was lounging around the Mercato Vecchio, looking at the many stalls and being waylaid by terribly off-key bards as they tried to sing poorly rhymed stanzas of the "Pazzi Conspiracy," as it was being called. The verses about a man in a white hood killing in cold vengeance made Ezio wince, and he wondered what more he could do to attract the attention of a certain fox.

"Gold! _Gold!_" someone shouted, and suddenly there was a throng of people mobbing a corner of the Mercato, grabbing and pushing and shoving to gain access to the coins that had littered the ground.

Ezio blinked, wondering if a cutpurse had failed, but a bony hand clamped on his shoulder, and the young Assassin turned to see the hooded Volpe, grinning and motioning that he make no noise. Ezio followed, away from the open-air market and into a narrow alley.

"One wonders why you're back," Volpe said, purple eyes alight with mirth. "A man rarely wished to lose to a Fox twice."

Ezio grinned slightly, crossing his arms. "Maybe I just wanted a rematch," he said.

Volpe laughed good-naturedly. "A sense of humor!" he said. "Come, let us see if you've learned your lesson."

And he was off.

Grinning, Ezio pursued, hot on the thief's tail. He still wore leather armor, to be sure, but he was not winded from a previous chase, and he'd had a full meal and mental preparation for the race. They all but flew over rooftops, climbing over lattice and trellis and boxes and pigeon coups, using signs and stepping stones and lantern posts as swing bars before Volpe stopped near the Santa Maria Novella, much as before. Ezio was still panting compared to Volpe, but he took some satisfaction in not making the fox wait for him to catch up.

"You're fast indeed," Volpe said, nodding in approval. "Not as fast as your father, yet, but I see the signs. Now, what do you need?"

"... You knew my father...?" Ezio panted between breathes.

"He helped train several of my best," Volpe said, shrugging it off as if it were nothing. "He was a good man, fast with his mind as well as his feet. He was the only one to ever catch me."

Ezio blinked, marveling at the idea, but one look at the hooded fox told Ezio he was decidedly _not_ going to get that story. Taking a deep breath, he got to the point. "I'm looking for another man, he worked at the _Signoria_ and was part of the conspiracy."

Volpe nodded, as if expecting that. "Lorenzo snatched you up quickly, I see. I don't blame him."

Ezio explained the details, hoping that if La Volpe could find Francesco, then he could find this traitor. Volpe made a sharp whistle, making almost a dozen different thieves come up and out from seemingly nowhere - as skilled as Paola's girls at being invisible, it seemed. The thin fox relayed the details, and a cluster of three thieves said they'd seen a man of that description, and could lead Ezio there. The nineteen-year-old gave his thanks, and asked the thieves to lead the way, and though they did so, Volpe said, "We'll discuss payment later."

Ezio gulped when he heard that, he had _very_ little money to just hand over like that...

Still the assignment came first, and Ezio followed the group of thieves easily over the rooftops, further west towards the city wall. The four paused an hour later at a covered alleyway, city guards on either side instead of the humanists, and Ezio could just see the man Poliziano had described, pacing back and forth as if waiting for something, likely his contact out of the city. Ezio frowned, studying the archway; there were no beams to sneak inside, and the guards were practically shoulder-to-shoulder, preventing literally everyone from using the cut-through. He looked to the thieves.

"Is it possible for you to distract the guards?" he asked.

One of them laughed. "Certainly. It will cost you extra, though."

Ezio winced, painfully, but nodded. He wasn't good enough that he could do something like this on his own. Claudia was going to _kill_ him for wasting money like this.

The thieves grinned, and all three of them disappeared into the afternoon shadows, melting into the crowds. Ezio watched from above, a certain clinical appreciation over what was happening as one of the three thieves broke from the crowd and deliberately shoved a guard, knocking into another and then another until all four were sprawled on the ground. Ezio could hear the curses even from where he was as all four city guards gave chase, the nimble thieves quickly scattering and forcing the guards to split up as they ran hither and yon. Ezio made his way back to the ground and entered the now un-barricaded archway, watching his target pace out, muttering to himself. Ezio, lacking his bracer, took a throwing knife and stabbed him in the back, a low gurgle the only noise he made as Ezio slowly lowered him to the ground. Blood stained his gloves, and as Ezio took to the streets he shed them and bought a new pair, once more wincing at the expense.

Not twenty minutes after the deed was done, Volpe took pace next to him.

"Now, about payment," he said brightly.

Ezio groaned. "You know my uncle has little in the way of finances, yes?"

"Ah, but I doubt he knows about all the curios and artifacts you have in your possession from a certain tomb you found?"

The young Florentine blinked, wide-eyed. "How...?"

Volpe smirked again, arrogant smugness filling his face. "I know everything," he said simply.

Ezio groused, _badly_, all the way to Paola's in the San Marco district, muttering curses and expletives. He made La Volpe wait outside, wanting to keep _something_ personal, but he doubted even where he was keeping the loot he'd taken from the tomb was a secret to a man like Volpe. Hell, _Paola_ was probably watching; and he sighed, the anger leaving him as he pulled out his pouches of curios and exiting the brothel. The two moved back up to the roofs, a transaction like this needed some privacy - and Ezio winced at the irony - before he laid out his spread.

Any negative feelings he felt, for the record, disappeared in an instant when he saw the _look_ on Volpe's face as he browsed the merchandise. The unbridled _hunger_ that spread across those purple eyes made Ezio realize just _who_ had the advantage in this transaction, and his scarred mouth pulled into a smug grin as Volpe began negotiating.

"We'll start with this seal," the fox said, pulling up the circular relief of a hidden blade.

"That is the only item that is not for sale," Ezio said, snatching it and hiding it behind his red sash. _That_ little item was going back with him to Monteriggioni.

"Then, these goblets, I can take them for, say, five hundred florins."

"They're worth at least ten thousand."

And so the haggling began. Volpe, the thief, versus Ezio, the banker. It was fast and vicious, with many friendly and not-so friendly insults hurled back and forth, bargaining and negotiating, factoring depreciation versus appreciation, percent interest, commissions, all kinds of nitty-gritty little details that would have made other men weep. When it was done, however, both men were certain they came out the victor, Volpe with several black market items, Ezio with enough gold to do... well, _plenty_ in Monteriggioni.

That night Ezio returned to the Palazzo Medici, reporting the success of his mission to Poliziano. Lorenzo appeared as well, giving his thanks.

So it went for the next two weeks. Ezio would stop by the Medici, Lorenzo or Poliziano would give him a name or a description, and Ezio would take care of the problem. While he was out he practiced his climbing and his running, occasionally doing courier assignments or racing a thief that La Volpe sent his way to be tested. He found two eagle nests, taking with him a large collection of feathers, hoping to give them to his mother in Petruccio's name. Paola housed him most of the time, and sometimes Lorenzo himself. He checked every morning to see Leonardo, but the painter had not yet finished with his hidden blade, and Ezio was starting to miss it.

When he asked Leonardo about it, he waved it off. "It got boring," he said in an airy voice. "Why not ask _Vincenzo_ to do it?"

Ezio frowned, uncertain where the mood was coming from. "How could I ask an assistant to do something that I know only the _Maestro_ is capable of doing?" he asked.

Leonardo's entire face brightened at the comment, a pleased flush covering his cheeks. "Do you really mean that?" he asked.

"Of course, Leonardo. Don't tell me you're _jealous_ because I want to hire Vincenzo? He is not my friend, you are."

And the next day Ezio's bracer was returned to him.

"All done!" the blond said happily. "I've filled your blade with poison to start with. Should you run out, just visit a doctor."

Ezio, putting on his hidden blade, looked up in confusion. "Poison? From a doctor?"

"In high enough doses, anything which cures can kill," Leonardo said expansively, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Ezio grinned, learning yet something else from the painter. "I am in your debt once more, my friend."

"Anytime, Ezio. Anytime!"

The third week, Ezio waited until sunset before milling about the north face of the Basilica Santa Maria del Fiore, staring at the skull relief in a red triangle. How many times had he and Federico postulated on why it was there? But now Ezio knew, it was a sign that there was a crypt here, as was a seal, and so he pulled at the skulls eyes, twisting it until it was upside down and the red triangle had turned into the Assassin symbol. He heard a click and felt the recess he was standing in give way, and Ezio walked down a pitch-black hallway, his night vision still perfect, and exited into the main chamber of the cathedral.

"Please, stay away from the artwork on the walls," a monk was saying. "And when your men paint the dome, take care not to disturb any of the sacred relics in the _lanterna_ on top. They are the most important artifacts in our church."

"Yes, yes, Father," replied a man, obviously a construction worker of some kind. "Just make sure to pay us the full sum for our work."

The pair disappeared into a back room, and Ezio came out into the cathedral proper, closing the secret passage behind him. He had not been in the massive church since the attack on Lorenzo weeks ago. The blood smeared marble tiles had been pulled up, likely to be replaced, and there were several scaffolds on the upper levels of the church, for the painting of the massive egg-shaped dome that so dominated Florence's sky. Frowning, the young Florentine closed his eyes and focused on his eagle, looking around with fresh eyes and looking for clues on where he was supposed to go.

There was nothing in the central isle for worshipers, and Ezio made his way to the back, where the massive dome was. He finally found the assassin symbol. Upright, and as Ezio trailed his sharp eyes up he could just make out more symbols, all pointing the same way. Up, up, and _up_.

"The _lanterna_," he muttered, his rich baritone echoing off the walls. This was going to be... tedious. Closing his eyes to his eagle, he looked around at first, eyeing the scaffolding that surrounded the inside of the dome. It was plain for now, the church still approving plans for painting it. That must have been whom the monk was talking to. Nodding to himself, Ezio snuck into the back of the church, slowly making his way up choir steps and reentering the dome, this time several stories up. He saw several strung-together boards of wood, hanging by a wooden platform that had been set up for work, and Ezio hopped gently over to it, allowing himself time to adjust as it swung under his weight, and the leaping over to the platform, and then to a series of crossbeams. Ezio took a moment to plan out his route, knowing there were balconies even higher up, though as a parishioner he had never been up there. He spied the window and their crossbeams, however, and slowly made his way over, hopping onto one of the windows and climbing his way up.

The view from so high up was spectacular, Ezio could see the entire geometric design of the marble floors as the late May moonlight flooded the windows, casting pale blue shafts of light everywhere. It felt... spiritual, and heavy. But then, given that he was about to rob a grave, he supposed that was only appropriate.

There were more support beams at the far end of the balcony, likely the beginning of scaffolding when the painters finally settled on a design. Ezio balanced on them very carefully, mindful that a fall from this height could kill him, and looked out over the expanse. He spied a balcony almost completely across from him that had a ladder higher up, and Ezio took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. Forced to travel the entire circumference of the dome, he hopped up to an incomplete balcony, smaller with an unfinished railing. Trying the door, he found it locked, he cursed softly as he looked around, plotting a new route. He wished dimly he had explored the church more with his brother and sister, that he knew the layout and stairs better than he did.

Ezio sent a silent prayer to his father and made a running leap out over the darkness, blue moonlight crossing over him briefly, before he landed on another overhang. His heart was racing with that jump, and he took several moments to calm down.

"What was that?" an echo-y voice filtered from below.

"What was what?"

"That shadow. It just passed over the window there. It looked like an angel..."

"You've been at the sacramental wine again, haven't you?"

"No! I swear I haven't!"

Ezio had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing, wondering how anyone could mistake _him_, or even his _shadow_, for an angel. Still, he waited until the sounds of their voices faded away, and he carefully made his way around the circumference of balconies, beams, and platforms that the artists had set up for the eventual frescoes. Ezio _finally_ reached the ladder and ascended it, leading to an even _higher _balcony, purely decorative given there were no doors up here, only the beginning of the dome. Ezio marveled at how high up he was, that he had _climbed_ this high up, and then promptly put it from his mind. The last thing he needed to obsess over was how high up he was as he began tracing his trained eyes over the brickwork of the dome, spotting hand and footholds, plotting a route that took him at an ever sharper angle. As he began the climb, he tried not to think about how his cape was trailing out behind him because of gravity, tried not to think about the pain in his fingers and wrists as they took more of his weight than they usually did because of his angle.

He reached another wood support beam, and Ezio climbed it greedily, glad for the chance to rest his arms and feet and catch his breath. He panted slightly, pulling his hood down and running fingers through his damp hair and sweaty face. It was _hot_ up here.

After several minutes, he looked up, out across the expanse, and saw the _lanterna_. The beams he sat on took him right up to it, and with great care he eased himself over until he was in the _lanterna_ proper, and only then did he breathe a sigh of relief, climbing up the ladder and into the cupola.

Another statue could be found here, Assassin symbol at the woman's waist, as were several treasure chests and a tomb. Ezio stood at the tomb, stared at it, and clasped his hands together in prayer.

"I thank you for your work in the past," he said slowly, solemnly, "And I hope you understand my need of that which you possess. I'm sorry."

He looted every chest he could open before opening up the tomb. The light was no longer blue; he could just make out the sun through the arched windows. The body inside was mummified; a long, thin red sash draped from head to toe, and on its chest was the next seal, a circle with a symbol for poison on it. Ezio pulled it out and looked at the mummy for a long time. The seal of Iltani was his, and he nodded his head in respect before closing the tomb and opening a window, exiting out onto the highest rampart of the Basilica.

Several weeks later, deep in July, Lorenzo saw Ezio personally, the former noble coming in as the patron of Florence was talking to a little boy, the one who had spied on him earlier.

"Guilio, my nephew," Lorenzo said softly, sadly. "I will adopt him, now that Guiliano is no longer with him."

"I see," Ezio said slowly, knowing exactly what the boy was going through.

Lorenzo gave a great sigh. "It seems that safety does not come with the death of Francesco de' Pazzi," he said. "The Pope is furious that archbishop Salviati is dead."

Ezio frowned, his head tilting. "But he is not dead. _Yet,_" he added.

"But he is hidden well enough that he may as well be," Lorenzo clarified. "My saving Sixtus' nephew was not enough, it seems. He's put all of Firenze under interdict - no mass, no communion, and he's excommunicated me. Worse, he's massing Napoli to invade."

Ezio blinked, not expecting such a strong reaction from the Pope. "Have you told Milan? And Balogna?"

Lorenzo sighed. "They will be of no help."

...

War. This was... this was war.

_Firenze_, the jewel of Italia, was about to go to _war_.

All of Ezio's work to prevent the disaster the Spaniard and his conspirators had sought to create was about to befall on them.

A hand touched his shoulder. Lorenzo looked at him with a soft smile, that of a man about to do something dangerous. "If there's one thing your father has taught me," he said slowly, "It is that there is always hope. This conflict is because of me, not the people of Firenze, and so I will give them what they want."

Ezio blinked, uncomprehending. "What are you saying?"

"I am leaving presently to sail to Napoli. I will surrender myself to their King, and try to negotiate a settlement for the people of Firenze."

... Ezio marveled. "But you could-"

"A small price to pay for the city I love so dearly," Lorenzo said. Then he winked. "Besides, this is not a surrender. I have been a diplomat since I was a child, and I plan to use every charm I have to come out on top."

The audacity of the plan, the bravery inherent in it and the determination of Lorenzo to see it through, it impressed deeply on Ezio, and for a brief moment, he saw his father in this man, and he smiled.

"Send me a letter in Monteriggioni what you get back," Ezio said, clasping Lorenzo's shoulder. "My sister will see that it gets to me. I'll want to hear all about it."

"Of course."

"I'll travel with you part of the way. It's past time I returned to Uncle Mario and Monteriggioni and apprised them fully of what's happened here. We'll see if I can't have those names you gave me eliminated before your return."

"A race, then," Lorenzo said in a light voice. "Who will complete his task first?"

"_Bene_," Ezio said, and the two men laughed.

"Is there anything you need for your travels?"

"Yes," Ezio said. "I want a banker, one of our old ones, to come with me to Monteriggioni. Also, a good blacksmith's assistant. Can you arrange either of those?"

Lorenzo thought a moment. "There is a German man we absorbed when Giovanni died," he said. "Terrible manners but good with numbers; my men can't stand him, but he may be happier serving an Auditore. I'll ask Poliziano about the blacksmiths."

"Excellent."

* * *

Desmond blinked, taking a moment to realize he was no longer riding out of Firenze with an entourage. Sitting up slowly, he rubbed his eyes. "Okay," he muttered, "That was a headache."

"Headache?' Lucy's voice said from behind. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Desmond replied, getting up and stretching. "It's just confusing as hell, like with Monteferrat and his son and all the politics. I didn't get it then, I don't get it now."

Shaun spun around in his chair, looking at Desmond in exaggerated horror. "You mean to tell me you don't know anything about the Pazzi Conspiracy, even now after you've _lived_ it? Don't they teach you _anything_ in those American schools?"

"Hey!"

"I wouldn't know," Desmond growled, pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing his temples. "Since I never _went_ to standardized, public school. What part of 'being raised on the Farm' do people not understand?"

"Don't feel bad, Desmond," Rebecca said, pulling her headphones down and running a hand through her dark rocker hair. "I didn't get all of it either. It's too bad we don't have a high and mighty _historian_ to explain it all to us," she said with a grin. "Help us understand all the political intrigue that's happening."

"Oh, _sure_!" Shaun said, throwing his hands up. "I don't have enough to do, keeping all of us alive and safe, monitoring the other Assassins, oh, no, I'll just tack this on to the list. Note to self, 'Make presentation explaining the intricacies of Italian Renaissance politics, church politics, royal inbreeding and lists of major families. Oh, and make it all succinct and clear enough for even _baby Assassins_ can understand.' Right, I'll have plenty of time to do it. Really."

Rebecca patted Desmond on the shoulder, making a quick "V" with her fingers to mark her victory, and disappeared from the loft, presumably to get something to eat. Shaun, still muttering to himself, got up from his stool and started pulling down sticky notes from his pin-board full of portraits and strings, making piles and setting them up at his computer, already getting to work.

Rolling his shoulders still, he grabbed the stool by the Animus, still warm from Rebecca, and dragged it over to Lucy's station. "How are things?" he asked, getting himself comfortable.

"I'm still catching up on everything that's happened," Lucy said, staring at a file. "And I still have to debrief. And on top of it I'm also in charge of Project Legacy."

"And what's that?" Desmond asked, crossing his legs.

"Nothing you have to worry about," Lucy sighed, leaning back in her chair and pushing the file away. She pulled out her hair, blond locks cascading down her shoulders as she, too, pinched her nose and then rubbed her temples. "Frankly, I'm tired of looking at it."

Desmond snorted, Rebecca returning with a platter full of breads and cheeses, a plate of finger sandwiches, and hopped up the small set of steps and set them up by the couches around the giant plasma before disappearing again. Desmond and Lucy shared a look, and both silently agreed that food was a _great_ idea and got up to wander over. The couches were comfortable, and it wasn't long before all four of them were clustered around the small coffee table, chewing and drinking and swallowing.

Lucy with her hair down was a sight to behold, and Desmond appreciated it whenever he wasn't coordinating his hands to his mouth in some way. Her pouty lips and bright eyes were softened with her hair, and he more than admired the view. But before long they were all done, and Desmond was once more plugged back into the Animus, the white loading screen encompassing the "baby" assassin as he waited to see where he would spawn.

Looking down, Desmond eyed the knee-high boots, the red sash and obscenely ornate belt. The vest thingy was silk, embroidered with red pinstripes, and the collar had more details with gold threads. Even his undershirt had lace finery. "This guy was a _fop_," Desmond muttered. But, then, he'd seen how that Lorenzo guy had been dressed. Ezio didn't garishly wear jewels and gold, at least. ...But he was still a fop.

When the Animus loaded, he had spawned in Monteriggioni. The villa was still covered with overgrown, dead ivy, and the landscaping was in horrible need of repair. Flowerbeds were barren and half dug up, and the walkways were missing stones. Sighing at the bleakness of the place, he looked up to the sky. "Okay, where do you want me?"

"_Well,_" Rebecca said. "_It looks like there might be a glyph here in Monteriggioni. Actually, according to the data Subject Sixteen left behind - not easy to parse, I might add - it should be somewhere on the villa._"

"Well that'll make this a short trip," Desmond muttered, turning around and staring up at the massive piece of architecture. He called up his eagle vision, walking around the perimeter of the house, around back and over the grating that lit the Sanctuary below. Walking around, he finally spied the glyph, a glorified barcode, on the far corner of the villa, and with a deep breath he hoisted himself up the windows and ledges to scan it, feeling a slight shifting in the Animus as it loaded the new data.

"Three thefts," Sixteen's voice said. "Hidden by murders. People only see what they're trained to see. What the Organization wants them to see."** Hat-Trick** showed up as the title.

Desmond looked at an old photograph, and Lucy was already talking.

"_I bet I know what this is about,_" she said. "_Those three Apples he had mentioned earlier. Pieces of Eden One, Two, and Three. Abstergo has them in their collection. I bet this was how they got them._"

"_Given who their last owners were, it certainly isn't going to be sherry and giggles,_" Shaun said.

Desmond gulped, wondering how much history he didn't know. The picture looked harmless enough, the caption reading Houdini and Bess, 1914. The other sentence, however, read: They made it look like an accident.

"So how'd this guy die?" Desmond asked, scanning the picture.

"_The story's quite famous,_" Shaun said in superior tones. "_A fan asked the man if he could take any blow to the stomach. Houdini said yes but without giving the man any chance to prepare, the fan hit him repeatedly._"

"What idiot does that?" Desmond asked.

"_Regardless, without the preparation and suffering an appendicitis, Houdini didn't get it treated, and passed out during a performance. He died._"

"That's... sad," he said, looking at the picture. He reached up, almost to touch the picture, when it shifted to a different photograph, that of a grave.

The next photo was of a man, Indian perhaps, with circular glasses, flanked by two men in white. The caption said Gandhi, 1946, and while Desmond had heard of the name, vague notions associated with pacifism, he didn't know much about the man. "And this guy?" he asked, staring at the text: He almost _beat_ them.

"_Assassinated,_" Shaun said. "_Shot while on his way to address a prayer meeting. Nathuram Godse did the deed, as they say, with the help of Narayan Apte._"

"_Both were Templars,_" Lucy said.

"_The cover story is that they were extreme Hindu nationalists and blamed Gandhi for weakening India by paying Pakistan._"

"... Yeah, that means nothing to me," Desmond said, looking at the withered, old, gentle face of the man.

"_Indian nationalist, protested via non-violent civil disobedience, won independence of India from Britain through it, called the Father of India, his birthday is International Non-Violence Day, The Salt March photograph you saw earlier. Ring any bells?_"

"Pacifism," Desmond said. "I link the guy's name with pacifism." He reached up to touch the photo again, shifting to an aerial photo of what had to be Gandhi's funeral procession, hundreds of thousands of bodies in the frame. "And he was really popular," he whispered, marveling at the love so many people had for this man. He was bigger than American celebrities.

A new image appeared, this time a file icon, and when Desmond reached up to open it, it said "Access Denied." Sixteen's voice filtered into his ears.

"The wolves are coming," he moaned, a sing-song quality in his voice, dissonant and not quite on key. "Where, oh where, had Jack gone?" A flood of images assaulted Desmond, of people, buildings, a 60s car, and an old rotary lock. Desmond spun the numbers a few times, wondering what it was supposed to do as he studied the pictures. The secondary wheel of the lock wasn't lined up with the first, and Ezio realized it wasn't a lock, per se, but a cipher. He looked over the images again, recognizing some of the faces, and realized what he was looking at. Whoa... but he realigned the cipher and input the code to the locked file. Inside was a memo.

_"Dallas TN_

_"Operation: NEW FRONTIER_

_ "HQ has given the go ahead to extract the resource. Negotiations are over. F. is planning to give the vote to everyone. Reason just doesn't work with someone like that._

_ "I'll send you the driver. He's been trained with PE2 in our labs, so he shouldn't be any trouble._

_ "The motorcade route is marked below. Once the target has been downed, either by Oswald or Z., use PE1 to stage a distraction. Make some kind of phantom appear around this slope I've marked off with an X. Freak people out. The driver will grab PE3 in the confusion."_

Attached was a picture of the famous route, the way John F. Kennedy, "Jack" Kennedy, JFK, had traveled, when Lee Harvey Oswald shot him. One of his neighbors in his apartment complex was a total JFK conspiracy nut, always talking details of the event. But now... "I can give him a whole new conspiracy..." Desmond muttered. "Whoa..."

He re-spawned where he had left, hanging off the roof of the villa and hoisted himself up completely. "Did Sixteen know JFK?" he asked.

"_I'm not sure,_" Lucy said, apologetic. "_He relived several lifetimes in the Animus, and he hacked even more. He wasn't old enough to 'know' JFK, but he may have lived the life of someone close to him._"

"I see," Desmond said, trying to put a picture together of the previous victim of Abstergo. Sighing, he added, "So, where to next?"

"_Back to Florence_," Rebecca said. "_Now that you have access to the Santa Maria Novella district, there a couple landmarks there that have glyphs on them you can check out._"

"On my way," Desmond said, taking a flying leap of the villa and landing hard on his legs, tucking into a tight roll before coming up and shaking his legs out. "Ow," he muttered, "Not my best landing."

"_Still impressive, though._"

"_For a baby Assassin._"

Desmond offered the sky a finger before hopping over the rail to the converted stage, seeing a cluster of mercenaries training and paying the mindless constructs no mind as he made his way down the steps to the broken fountain with the ornate Assassin symbol and down the main thoroughfare. He wondered how the shops were going to do with the entourage Ezio was bringing home, but dutifully grabbed his horse, black with a white mane, and took off south at a heavy gallop, waiting to hit the end of the construct and for the Animus to load Florence. He rode all the way up to the city gate before he dismounted, entering the San Marco district, filled with buildings that were half built because of the growth spurt the district was undergoing, and began navigating the streets with some familiarity. He didn't know the inns and outs of the city like he had come to know Masyaf, but Ezio had been everywhere in Florence, especially when he was older and doing odd jobs for his father Giovanni.

Looking around, Desmond found a cart overfilled with barrels that made the perfect hop to a lantern post. Tracing his way up, it led to a sign, a trellis, and then to a roof, and so the "baby" assassin took off with a shout of "Time me!" before racing up to the rooftops and then up to a chimney, leaping from one to another and then climbing up to a higher roof, and then a higher one before stopping at a balcony with a sky garden. He wasn't even winded, and he smiled, looking out over the city. The skyline was dominated by the places Ezio knew best: the Palazzo della Signoria, the Duomo, and further off another church, the San Lorenzo, still under construction.

It took him a while to get there, and searching the building itself was a bit of a challenge, but he finally found the glyph, hidden away almost, and scanned it with his eagle vision, Sixteen once more talking as the strange file loaded.

"It's getting easier and easier to hack into Abstergo's mainframe. It's like I know what data I'm looking for. Like I've already lived it."

"Yeah," Desmond said, looking at the **Infinite Knowledge** title of the file. "_That_ doesn't sound creepy and slightly insane. Not in the slightest..." He shivered, wondering at his fate, but watched as a photograph loaded.

"It's open mouth delivers the kiss of death," was the title, the caption reading: Burning Viet Cong base camp, My Tho, Vietnam, 1968.

A second picture said, "Leading the young to their end," with the caption: Members of the 2nd Infantry advance under machine gun fire into the outskirts of Brest, France, 1944.

And finally, an ancient photo titled, "The flames from its throat poke out their eyes," captioned: Union troops formation, Buford, South Carolina, 1862.

"So, what do these pictures have in common?" Desmond asked, studying them. "Other than they're all of war?"

"_Or that they're in reverse chronological order._"

"_Or that they're all American troops._"

"Yeah, big help there, Shaun, Rebecca. Thanks, it makes things so much clearer!" Grousing, Desmond scanned the photos with his eagle vision, wondering if his lame forensic-sense would give him any clues. Why didn't his eagle vision look cool, like Altair's enhanced senses or Ezio's intuition of where to look? No, instead he had a lame-ass crime-drama infrared shit-scope, all florescent light and-

He paused, looking at the pictures again. "They all have guns," he said finally, pointing to the bazooka in the Nam picture, the bayonets in the civil war picture, and the automatic rifle in the WWII photo.

A fourth picture overtook the other three, Eastern, maybe Chinese, Desmond wasn't sure, of a man or a god or something in decorated gold robes, a bunch of figures on the right. The title said, "This _monster_ did not come from man," with the caption saying it was: The first pictorial representation of a gun, 900. Desmond blinked, looking up at a demon-looking figure, and a circle of fire in his hand.

ID: Piece of Eden 4 - Apple

"Christ, how many of these Apples are there?" Desmond asked as the file was unlocked and he was dropped back in Florence. "And how did Sixteen know it was this specific one that taught us how to make guns?"

"_We don't know,_" Lucy said. "_There are fifty Pieces of Eden, you saw that on the globe Altair saw in his memories, but neither the Assassins or the Templars have all of them. In a way, it's a race to find them. That's part of the reason we're here. Sixteen became fixated on Ezio, always talking about him, so Ezio might know more as he gets older. You, we, might learn something that will help give us an edge._"

"A guy out for revenge and taking up his father's mantle is going to find all the lost Pieces of Eden? Do you know how much of a stretch that is?"

"_Do you have a better idea on how to defeat Abstergo?_"

Desmond frowned, unable to answer.

The next glyph was in Mercato Vecchio, the market centerpiece of Florence where La Volpe could be found if one just waited long enough. Desmond found himself wondering if the weird thief would pick his pocket while he was looking around, and had to remind himself that he was in a construct, that these people weren't going to randomly come to life and start interacting with him. The filtered bits of Italian sales, watching people walk from shop to shop, listening to _terrible_ singers trying to make coin, the scent of dogs and foodstuffs and body odor, it was all for effect. Desmond could still, very faintly, feel his hands on the armrests of the Animus; feel the foreign invasion in his elbow that allowed him to interact with the construct.

Sighing, he put thoughts of thieves and people aside as he found a discrete corner of the open-air _souk_... no, that wasn't right, open air _market_ that had distinct writing on it that his eagle vision scanned.

"You see?" Sixteen asked, desperation in his voice. "Do you see what's going on?"

A long, drawn out pause followed as the title of the file, **Instrument of Power,** appeared. Desmond felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, and the turned around, but there was only more abstract shapes, black on grey. There was no one here to watch him. No one at all. And yet...

"Not yet. But you will."

"Creepy," he muttered, shaking off the willies he was feeling. Sixteen had switched from photos to paintings it seemed.

"The power they wielded, cut from their enemies." And below was a series of paintings Desmond was supposed to choose from. Not all of them were Renaissance period - and the thought startled Desmond, wondering how he could tell the difference. Was Ezio's eye for paintings also bleeding through to him? Desmond wondered how much of him would be left after this, but pushed the thought aside, now even more creeped out, and tried to pick out what the pictures had in common with the hint of cutting down enemies. He chose all the pictures that had swords, it seemed obvious to him, and the construct hummed in approval.

ID: Piece of Eden 25 - Sword

"_Another_ Piece of Eden?" Desmond said as the next series of paintings filled his line of vision. "At least it isn't an Apple. But a sword? Come on, this is getting ridiculous."

"In their hands, the wise lean on a great force." More paintings, some stone etchings, all from different eras and periods. More than a few of them held rods or staffs of some kind, and as Desmond selected them he suspected-

ID: Piece of Eden 34 - Staff

And he would be right. "At least a sword is cool," he muttered.

"_You realize that a sword and a staff are traditional implements of royalty? One represents power and the other represents wisdom and make up the regalia of-_"

"I stopped listening to you half an hour ago," Desmond said, unlocking the file. "Rebecca, do the new additions help any?"

"_Not really,_" the rocker replied, her rich contralto echoing off the walls of the market. "_Each one is only a second or so long, but their sizes indicate they should be much bigger. I think part of it is the files themselves you're unlocking, but I can't be sure until all of the glyphs have been scanned and hacked. Sorry, Desmond._"

"Well," he said, crossing his arms. "If there aren't any more, then I'm going to start practicing."

For the next hour he ran around the rooftops of Florence, occasionally seeing a hint of Ezio, some fragmented memory Desmond had either already experienced, or one he would likely see later, given the distinctive change in clothes. He eventually found a circuit that exercised all of his major muscle groups, and he had Rebecca time him as he ran it, shaving off seconds here and there, not feeling winded in the slightest, even when he took more than a few massive tumbles.

One such fall landed him in a cluster of Poliziano's men, and they all drew their swords in insult to being landed on, and Desmond, instead of running for dear life like he would in Abstergo, extended his two hidden blades (two! He had two!) and tried to see if he could fight.

When he had first tried fighting in Abstergo, with the tortuous stall he had during the assassination of Sibrand, he had learned what a piss-poor fighter he was compared to trained men. Now, however, he held his own, mostly, deflecting the swords and falchions and circling under one man's guard, stabbing him deep in the gut with both hidden blades and shoving him aside. A second man made a swing, but Desmond deflected with the bracer Leonardo had given him, stabbing the guard deep in the abdomen and then a downward thrust with the second blade in the back. It was meaty and wet and _disgusting_, but Desmond's body seemed to move for him, Ezio's muscle memory helping him along until his own body (or mind, as the case may be) built up the conditioning.

The third guard had an axe of some kind, and the swing was so brutal Desmond tumbled back, the follow up strike hitting him in his unprotected back, and he found himself in the load screen.

"Well, that was a royal fuck up," he muttered.

For the next hour he tried a few different fights, mostly with his hidden blades and occasionally his sword, and he learned the hard way that while he had picked up several of Ezio's skills, he wasn't skilled enough yet to take out a contingent of guards. Satisfied with what he knew about his limits, however, he exited the Animus with a smile, getting up and relieving himself before starting to walk to the warehouse for his jog.

He paused, though, looking back into the loft and at Lucy, still pouring over a file with her hair down, eyebrows drawn into a tight knot.

"Wanna go for a run?" he asked.

Lucy looked up, surprised, but she smiled, her entire face softening, and soon the two were racing around the warehouse. The hot blond did some minor climbing, showing more skill than Desmond had for the moment (and only for the moment, he resolved); and she also had a great stride.

... And a great ass.

The pair came back sweating and grinning, making Rebecca eye them appreciatively and with a knowing grin that Desmond stoutly ignored, trailing after Lucy's tight ass to the fridge, the pair each taking a bottle of water and guzzling it.

"That felt great," Lucy said, sighing pleasantly.

"I love running," Desmond added, shrugging off his sweatshirt and pulling slightly at his tee. He was covered with sweat. "I haven't done a stretch like that in a while, I was starting to take double shifts at the bar to keep up with the rent."

"Ah, the struggles of the middle class in America," Shaun said, breezing in to pour himself a cup of tea. "Never mind the austerity measures and the bankruptcy of Europe, or the slaughter going on in Syria, or the riots in Egypt. No, no, _you_ worried about your _rent_."

"Because the middle class is shrinking to nonexistent," Rebecca said, joining the trio long enough to grab a thermos of coffee and disappearing, muttering about the video clips Sixteen had left. "And if _someone_ paid attention to all the whining on the internet; they _might_ actually know that."

Shaun huffed and disappeared himself, to do who knew what.

Lucy and Desmond chuckled slightly before reheating something for dinner, talking about nothing before the both crashed for bed.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Whew, a lot happened here. Sort of.

Shaun started shouting about the Medici Chapel in the beginning of the chapter because it's kind of a big thing. I don't know how big private chapels in _palazzos_ were in the Renaissance, but theirs was build when Lorenzo was still an itty-bitty kid and - in a huge break of tradition and perhaps even a brazen display of egotism - all the major figures in the Procession of the Magi were replaces with actual members of the Medici family. There's also the fact that that kind of chapel would have been _extremely_ private, arrogance like that was kept well hidden from the public face, and so it's quite a gesture that Ezio was honored in being brought there. And, because it was made when Lorenzo was a kid, we thought it would have been six shades of awesome if Lorenzo cajoled Giovanni's portrait being stuck in there. See, even _we_ can fiddle with history.

It would have been too much to include if we did all the assassination contracts in the game - and some of them are rather silly regardless, and so we nod to them in this chapter. More than anything else, this is Ezio taking a breath before his next big assignment, hunting down the conspirators (cue groans and moans about approaching timeskip). It gives us a chance to check in on people he won't see for a while, Volpe and Paola, but also Leonardo.

An astute reviewer thought it strange that Ezio hasn't figured out Leonardo's preferences given that Florence was _famous_ for its tolerance of gays back in the day. Belying that beautifully awkward moment in Brotherhood, Ezio is just so, er, straight as a beanpole that it doesn't even occur to him that people he know may be gay. That kind of thing wasn't exactly advertised, just tolerate, and we soft of think Ezio was of the mindset of "other people, not me and mine," about the whole issue. There's also the fact that Ezio knows that Leonardo knows hookers - a predominantly female profession - and he knows Paola and later Teodora by name, helping him leap to the conclusion that Leonardo is as straight as he is. Hence Ezio the Dim. This doesn't mean he's stupid of course, note his haggling with Volpe. :D

Also note the spiritual resonance Ezio has (and will have) with every tomb he comes across. That's not a build up for something later. Nope, none whatsoever. Besides, as he becomes steadily less and less Christian in his beliefs, something has to take over, and saying "The Creed" is just cheap.

And oh yeah, Desmond snuck up on us! Roughly, he shows up every two memories or so. Again, cue the hair pullingly boring bits we put in for lack of better ideas. God, they were hard to write.

As a side note, aficionados of the game may note that the glyphs aren't being done in order. It's just to make the information dump make sense. It wouldn't otherwise. And hm... I wonder why the files are so large? I'm sure it has absolutely NOTHING to do with Brotherhood... :D

Next week: That damn time skip. Cue the moaning now.


	10. Death of Conspirators

**Part Ten: Death of Conspirators**

That morning, everyone sat around various forms of coffee, some rested and some not, given that Rebecca was snoring slightly in one corner of the couch.

"Right," Shaun said, clicking his precious remote and displaying a map of Italy across the giant plasma. "Renaissance Italy: known for its explosion in art and Humanist thinking, and architecture. Painter Leonardo da Vinci perfected the art of perspective drawing, there was a general return to more classic symmetry and 'scaled down,' humble proportion - which is of course relative, all things considered. Italy, though called Italy, was hardly a country but rather a collection of nation-states that were constantly at war with each other." Clicking, the map zoomed in to central Italy. "There was the Papal state of Rome, Florence, Milan; Monteriggioni was a part of Siena, and so on and so forth."

He clicked his control again, and Desmond saw the Animus construct of Florence, slowly panning around. "The jewel of the early Renaissance was Florence. The Medici were in power after Cosimo de' Medici had bankrolled a Pope, and the family was known for its support of the arts. Lorenzo de' Medici's own mother was a poet, as was Lorenzo himself, and though he very rarely commissioned anyone, he often saw to introductions and secured more than a few notable commissions for others."

"He liked keeping the people happy," Desmond said, remembering the conversation the Magnificent had with Ezio. "He wanted to make them feel good about themselves and think anything was possible. He was always doing favors for people - sometimes without even payment."

"Typical for a mob boss," Shaun said, pushing up his glasses. "It was through those self-same series of 'favors' that he stayed in power. A benevolent despot, I suppose, but still a despot; and the people loved him."

Desmond straightened slightly, taking offense that such a close friend of his fa-such a close friend of _Ezio's_ father had been called a gangster. He shook his head, shrugging off the feeling.

"Though he was loved by the people, that didn't mean he was popular in all areas. The principal offender, according to history, was archbishop Salviati, a papal banker who was more than slightly put out when he learned that he wouldn't get the coveted position of archbishop of Florence. This was because Lorenzo wasn't happy with Salviati using Pazzi money to buy out Imola, a city Lorenzo wanted because of the mines. Unhappy with the Medici treatment, history brings about the conspiracy to kill Lorenzo de' Medici and his brother Guiliano in order to overthrow Florence and let them have their way with the city. Rumor has it that the Pope even said, 'I support it, so long as no one is killed.' I suppose you could call that backhanded approval: he'd support it if it worked, and denounce it if it didn't."

"Only, that's not what happened," Desmond said. "Well, at least not completely. The Templars were involved as well."

"Naturally," Shaun replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Rodrigo Borgia, head of the Templar Order at the time, had Pope Sixtus' ear on just about anything. While there were several conspirators, only six were Templars. Vieri and Francesco de' Pazzi you already know about, the rest are as follows:"

And with a click Shaun began showing portraits of the men on Ezio's list.

"Jacopo de' Pazzi: the money. This guy was the head of the Pazzi family, and he ran their banking business. An associate of Lorenzo de' Medici, he had nothing against him personally, so he hired four Templar hitmen to take care of the situation for him. He was very cautious in everything he did - good for a banker, great for a Templar - and wanted everything perfect.

"Bernardo di Bandino Baroncelli: Brought up to hate the Medici family because of the exile of his cousins, Baroncelli ran the numbers in the Pazzi bank by day and murdered for the Templars by night. It was Baroncelli who delivered the first blow to Guiliano de' Medici and supplied the weapons not only for the attack, but also for all the men who would march in on Florence to take over once the deed was done.

"Stephano de Bagnone: known for his cruelty, Bagnone was trained in Rome as a Templar butcher. It was Bagnone who stabbed Lorenzo de' Medici in the back.

"Antonio Maffei: Witness to the sacking of Voltera by Florentine mercenaries, Maffei blamed Lorenzo. He joined the Templars to seek revenge. It was Maffei who stabbed Lorenzo in the neck."

"He also worked for Ezio's father, Giovanni, and Lorenzo," Desmond offered. "Ezio remembers seeing him at the villa sometimes, and he was often holding papers and shit. A decoder, maybe?"

Everyone blinked, not expecting the information, and a long drawn out pause made Desmond feel very awkward, shrinking into his seat before Shaun continued.

"And, of course," he said, "Archbishop Francesco Salviati: Convinced he would be the next archbishop of Florence, Salviati was enraged when Lorenzo stood in his way. But the Templars were there to heal his wounds. It was Salviati who marched their troops into the city." He clicked his remote and the map of Italy returned again.

"Lorenzo had allies of course, most notably in Milan and Balogne, but neither were available to help. In Milan, for example, the Sforzas - a major family in the Renaissance - were having a bit of a squabble over who was in charge since Ludovico Sforza had been assassinated in 1476. It's worthy of note that there are many similarities between that assassination and this. A second Templar conspiracy."

Desmond recognized the event, Ezio and his family had been talking about this the day before his family had been killed. Had Giovanni investigated that? Did that lead to his death...? He shook his head again while Shaun clicked his remote to a picture of a Pope.

"Sixtus - specifically Rodrigo Borgia - didn't like the failure of the plot. Sixtus seized every Medici asset he could get his hands on, placed Florence under interdict, and excommunicated Lorenzo before taking the traditional Papal arm: Naples, and readied to march on the nation-state. Lorenzo, back against the wall, did something completely unorthodox: he surrendered himself to Don Ferrante of Naples."

At last, Shaun stopped talking, looking up and pushing his glasses up his nose. "Any questions?"

"Yeah," Rebecca said, yawning and stretching. "What the hell are we talking about?"

Desmond snorted and the morning meeting was dismissed. He felt more confident now, he knew a little of the background (not nearly enough, he was sure) and thought he might be able to keep up with the events now. He had a better idea who those random names Lorenzo had rattled off were, and with Ezio's memories he was beginning to feel more comfortable with Tuscany. He looked up to the high windows of the loft, to the tiled roofs beyond those windows, and wondered where in Italy they were. Home in Florence? Or somewhere else? Rebecca helped him set up and soon he was loading the next memory.

* * *

It was odd traveling with so many people. Lorenzo had made the arrangements and introductions, as he always did for anyone who came to his door, and Ezio was now traveling with quite a few people and two wagons of things back to Monteriggioni. It had taken almost a week to gather everyone and their supplies, but Ezio was finally heading back to his uncle's Villa with not one, but _two_ blacksmith assistants, a pair of brothers named Marco and Carlo and all of their materials were in a hefty wagon to carry their excessive weight. And the German banker, whom Ezio recognized the face of, had taken one look at him before bowing and, in accented Italian, said that it would be a pleasure to work for his family again. Of course, the banker had three assistants of his own, and many files and paperwork to start their small bank (though Ezio wondered if they _realized_ it was to be a small bank...). In their wagon as well were the antiquities that Ezio had taken from _Il Duomo_ and intended to quietly sell for more funds for their little town.

For once, Ezio didn't have to worry about any brigands trying to waylay him, as he and the blacksmiths looked formidable during their short journey. He had sent word ahead to Claudia and Mario (if he was there) that he was finally coming home and bringing some much-needed help for the town.

As it was, their architect, Orazio, met them at the gate of Monteriggioni.

"Ah, _Ser_ Ezio! We welcome you back with open arms!"

Ezio chuckled as he dismounted. "I take it Claudia informed you of our need for a bank?"

"Of course," Orazio gave a wide smile. He bowed to the bankers. "We were able to purchase and open up a small building on the main thoroughfare," he said both to Ezio and the bankers. "It still needs some construction and renovation to be a proper bank, but it should work out well for our newest residents."

Ezio turned to the German Adler. "Go with our architect. He'll show you your property and you can talk of the renovations you need."

"_Gute_," Adler replied in German, nodding firmly. "I'm certain everything will be _wunderbar_."

"_Bene_," Ezio nodded. "I'll be taking the cart up to the Villa. Once you've spoken with Orazio here, come on up. You'll stay with us until you're all sorted out."

"Your family has always been most generous," Adler bowed, and then turned to his assistants. "_Komme Sie mit mir_."

"This way, this way," Orazio waved on grandly. Adler and his assistants stepped down from the wagon and Ezio took over driving it, leaving his horse with a stable boy.

"Come on," Ezio turned to Carlo and Marco. "Let's have you both meet Santino, our blacksmith."

"_Si_," they replied amiably.

They rode up the thoroughfare, several of the few people in town noticing Ezio and calling out welcomes to him.

Santino was busy at his anvil in back when Ezio arrived with the brother assistants. Ezio smiled mischievously to the assistants and motioned for them to wait beyond the door.

"Hello, Santino," Ezio said, leaning against the door.

"Ah! _Ser_ Ezio! Welcome back," Santino put aside his work and came forward. "Ah, your armor is damaged! It's only been a month and a half! What _have_ you been up to?"

"Oh, this and that. If one needs armor, it will get used." Ezio looked around. "So how has business been for you?"

"Ridiculous," Santino replied. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that we're finally starting to get some repairs done around here but..."

Ezio nodded with a smile. "I've noticed a fresh coat of paint on many of the buildings."

"_Si_," Santino smiled. "The wine merchants don't care for us, but we actually have clean water and it's saving us a great deal of money in things. Some of us wanted to spruce up the place. But now that some of the townsfolk _have_ the money," he continued, bemoaning, "I've had more and more orders. And two weeks ago, my assistant ran off with the whore he's been seeing and now I truly have to do everything alone."

"Not so," Ezio smiled. "Not so."

"I don't understand."

Ezio turned and the two brothers came in.

Santino stared a few minutes; looking from one brother to the next, then to Ezio, then back again. Finally, the blacksmith dropped to his knees. "_Ser_ Ezio, you are truly too kind. I... Thank you, _Messere_, _thank you_."

"This was my pleasure."

Santino was quickly on his feet. "Come, you two, let's see what you can do! We're going to make a set of armor for _Ser_ Ezio for this good deed and I need to see your skills!"

The two brothers laughed. "We'll need to unload our wagon, _Messere_," Carlo said, the more outgoing of the two. "We've a lot to set up and a small space for it."

Santino was practically crying in relief as Ezio slipped away, proud of what had happened.

From there, Ezio took his wagon up the Villa, where the staff willingly went about unloading much of the bankers' things. Ezio took care to take his materials himself, unloading his basic travel pack and the two hefty bags of antiquities and relics. He needed to discuss with Claudia how they should best use these items, specifically, sell them.

Of course, think of his _piccina_ and she arrived in a black cloud.

"Ezio!" she said, stalking out to them. "We agreed we'd be opening the mines next for more workers to come and live here! Instead you have me taking our meager savings and opening a bank! And you want us to open an art studio once this apprentice you saw finishes his apprenticeship? What happened to our plans!"

"They got more financing," Ezio said with a smile.

Claudia tripped in the outrage she was trying to unleash. "I _beg_ your pardon?"

Ezio chuckled. "Come, let me settle in and we'll talk in your study."

"Oh no," Claudia growled. "I'm not leaving you until I get a proper explanation!"

Together, they traveled up to Ezio's small room in the attic, the young Florentine talking as they went about more inane things, just to infuriate his sister. Ezio tossed his travel bag to his bed and carefully set down his other two bags, opening and spreading out the treasures he'd felt he needed to take from the Duomo and those left over from his deals with Volpe on the floor.

Claudia had fallen silent, her eyes widening as she looked at all the glittering trinkets and Ezio tossed her a heavy bag of gold that had been his payment from Volpe for the trade they'd done.

"_Dio mio_," Claudia whispered.

"I'd say our finances just took an upturn," Ezio said calmly.

His sister nodded, her eyes narrowing as figures no doubt started to fly in her mind.

"I forgive you," she said at last. "This bag of gold alone should open the mines, and the rest of this..."

"We can discuss its uses later. Santino will likely need his shop renovated for his new assistants. A second level, perhaps."

Claudia nodded. "I see feathers," she said quietly, looking at the dozen or so that Ezio had collected as he'd run around Florence.

Ezio shrugged. "I know she will come back to us, but... I can see no other method of helping her."

Claudia nodded again, sadly. "I think she'll love it. She's not as ill as she used to be, but she still responds to nothing."

Ezio reached out and wrapped an arm around her.

They sat together on his bed, the curios and antiquities at their feet looking completely worthless compared to the wellbeing of their mother.

That afternoon, Ezio entered Maria's room. She was kneeling by the box of feathers and Ezio stepped quietly over. He opened the lid and placed the beautiful eagle feathers he'd found inside, trying to arrange them so that they could all be seen but failing miserably. With a silent sigh, he merely placed them neatly before shutting the box and then kneeling beside his mother, praying with her.

Claudia joined them briefly, after she'd spent some time with the account books, and then tea was brought up. Maria, almost automatically, sat with them around a small settee.

So, with a sad sigh, Ezio started to detail how his time in Florence went. He spoke of the conspiracy, the results, what had needed to be done to resolve things. Even now, war still loomed over the horizon for their home city. Claudia groused and growled at the unfairness of it all, but listened intently nonetheless. Maria, unsurprisingly, had no reaction.

As Ezio closed his tale, he couldn't help noticing Claudia had a distinctly unsatisfied look on her face.

"Claudia, what is it?"

His sister smiled, full of mischief. "You were in Florence for quite a while."

"...Yes."

"Lots of free time between all these assignments, it sounds like."

"...Perhaps."

"So," Claudia smiled brightly and with interest, "how is Cristina?"

It was a stab in his heart he wasn't expecting and he quickly looked down to his empty teacup. A lump formed like a solid rock in his throat.

A delicate hand went over his and he looked up to see Maria was looking at him blankly, while Claudia suddenly looked worried.

"Ezio?"

"Cristina-" his voice cracked and he attempted to swallow and try again. "Cristina will be married to a good merchant named Manfredo. He will take very good care of her... I made sure of it."

"Oh, _Ezio_!" Claudia got up and immediately wrapped her arms around him as he fought to keep his tears back.

"She will be happy," Ezio said firmly around the rock in his throat. "I... can't offer her anything like stability or happiness. Manfredo can. She'll be happy... She'll be... That's the only thing that matters. Her happiness."

Claudia said nothing, just held him close as he once more grieved for a love now gone. Maria said nothing, but her hand didn't stop holding his.

* * *

It was a week later when Ezio finally felt settled in. Alder and his assistants would be out of the Villa within a week, having found lodgings closer to their new bank, which all four of them insisted on running despite the construction necessary. Santino was over the moon with plans for a new level to his shop and was already making the other townspeople happy as he started to fill out orders with more speed and better workmanship. Plans were being looked over for the mines that were going to be opened by the end of the season, and the art shop for Vincenzo was already getting renovated for when his apprenticeship ended two years away. Both Ezio and Claudia kept a close eye on Orazio, as this new income of money had him wanting to spend extravagantly, which both Auditore siblings firmly reined him in on.

Mario had still not arrived, though Claudia had told Ezio that he was dealing, in his own way, with the Pazzi Conspiracy, specifically the mercenaries that had been hired and were wandering around Florence and Tuscany both. A pigeon arrived a few days after Ezio had, saying that Mario was on his way and would arrive the next week.

Ezio took his time with practice dummies to try and hone the techniques Altair had listed for different assassination techniques. It required a fair bit of upper body strength, particularly to kill from a haystack and drag the deadweight in without being noticed. Assassinations from ledges required a precise thrust and yank and not letting whatever target he was killing grab him during the fall. It required finesse and Ezio worked hard on them.

Given how many time's he'd had to drop down on targets during the riots after the attack on _Il Magnifico_, he was certain he would do well with those, but he practiced regardless.

If this was to truly be his path, he needed to excel in order to survive.

Ezio also helped out in the town. With construction starting to flourish, there could often be disagreements over space or who owned what or some such. While Claudia was good with the finances, Ezio would use his charms to settle out such disputes.

It was during one such resolution, between the local candle maker and a woman demanding reimbursement for her ruined groceries after the craftsman had bumped into her trying to avoid a heavy cart of building materials pushed through, that Ezio realized something.

The candle maker was on his way, still grumbling about lost time, and the cart driver was long gone, leaving Ezio with the woman.

Ezio bowed politely and was turning to leave when the woman smiled appreciatively at him, then grabbed him by the neck, bringing him down into quite the kiss.

Indeed, his lonely heart responded and he kissed back in kind before Ezio's brain caught up with what he was doing and he pulled away.

The woman pouted, but Ezio smiled one of his most charming smiles. "I thank you, _Madonna_, for the interest. But I do not, have not, and do not believe in, being with a married woman."

"Of course you're honorable," the woman sighed wistfully, fanning herself in the warming spring and conveniently exposing a fair bit of cleavage. "I thought Florentines didn't care for such details?"

Ezio shook his head, and took her hand to kiss it. "Florentines have always been passionate about their love, but I also believe in marriage, as my parents did."

The woman flushed even more, looking all the more attractive, and Ezio bowed again, walking away. Cristina came to his thoughts once again, as did Claudia. Yes, Ezio believed firmly in marriage. Once one was promised to someone, it was important to remain faithful. His father never had any illegitimate children, and Maria, as evidenced by her current state, was completely devoted to their father.

It was why Ezio hadn't been with anyone since he'd given his heart to Cristina. But that chapter of his life was over now. He no longer needed to remain alone like that.

Still, Ezio doubted he'd ever love someone as he had Cristina ever again.

Instead, he'd follow Federico's footsteps.

After all, Ezio chuckled to himself, he was a far better charmer than Federico could ever dream to be.

At least... now he was... with Federico gone...

In between his helping resolve conflicts, training, planning with Claudia, and looking after their mother, Ezio made sure to read through the Codex pages. There was something in them that he was drawn to, something about Altair's prose that just kept striking a cord somewhere deep within him. This man from hundreds of years ago seemed to be reaching forward through his words, there was something he needed to teach, and Ezio always felt it was somewhere along the edges of his understanding, so he kept rereading.

"_What follows are the three great ironies of the Assassin Order: (1) Here we seek to promote peace, but murder is our means. (2) Here we seek to open the minds of men, but require obedience to a master and set of rules. (3) Here we seek to reveal the danger of blind faith, yet we are practitioners ourselves._"

Ezio himself had thought of these contradictions as he reconciled reading his father's journals of assassinations. How could one truly promote peace if murder was the tool? It was such a mutually exclusive construct; Ezio still pondered the meanings of it. To have others see the contradictions was, in a way, a relief. To see them written down convinced Ezio that it wasn't just him. There were aspects of some of the lessons his uncle gave him, of the danger of faith, yet always to have faith that had confused him, and seeing that these thoughts had already been reviewed many generations ago, pulled at Ezio. There was something there, just between the lines.

"_I have no satisfactory answer to these charges, only possibilities... Do we bend the rules in service to a greater good? And if we do, what does it say of us? That we are liars? That we are frauds? That we are weak? Every moment is spent wrestling with these contradictions and in spite of all the years I've had to reflect, still I can find no suitable answer... And I fear that one may not exist._"

All were interesting questions, ones Ezio hadn't even considered. And if the great Altair could not even resolve the differences and contradictions, a man Ezio was starting to hold in great esteem and respect as he read the writings and felt them crystallize in his heart, his very being, then Ezio wondered if maybe what the learned Altair was saying between the lines was for Ezio to try and solve these dilemmas. Ezio certainly had had a well-rounded education thanks to his father's insistence, as did all his siblings.

"_Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. Does our creed provide the answer, then? That one may be two things – opposite in every way – simultaneously? And why not? Am I not proof? We of noble intentions, possessed of barbaric means? We who celebrate the sanctity of life and then promptly take it from those we deem our enemies?_"

Dichotomy. Ezio himself had seen many such examples in Florence, people who were devoutly religious but preferred the same gender and had to live with the contradictions inherent to their very being. Perhaps the nobility, the honor, the dream that Assassins had was what Assassins were to strive for. But the killing, the stealth, the trickery, became the tools of those who lived in a world where the ideal could only be striven for, and not achieved. Not on such a grand scale.

But that didn't mean it was unachievable. One need only look at Ezio's own beloved Florence to see a wealth of tolerance. But tolerance was always under attack by the small-minded, those who saw equity as an abomination.

It was a contemplation that Ezio often returned to, as he continued to accept his life of dichotomy.

And every time he returned to these Codex pages, his respect and admiration of this Altair, this greatest of Assassins, continued to grow.

* * *

Mario arrived with similar fanfare to Ezio's when he arrived, with the citizens thanking him for keeping them all safe and praising him for taking in the younger Auditore and their wisdom in finances into his care. Riding up the main thoroughfare had Ezio introducing the new people in town, including Alder and his assistants and Marco and Carlo, along with many construction workers who were working on the bank, the blacksmith, what would be an art studio for Vincenzo, the mines, and, now that Claudia had started selling the antiquities, the ramparts and battlements of their city.

"_Nipote_, it seems you and that sister of yours have been busy while I've been away!" Mario said, clapping Ezio on the back as they rode up to the Villa.

Ezio shrugged with a smile. "We had to keep busy with you gallivanting around the countryside and hunting down rogue mercenaries."

Mario guffawed. "As if you weren't busy in Florence. Lorenzo sent a letter, after all, telling the exploits of your bravery!"

The young Florentine chuckled.

"It seems my small contributions keep getting blown out of proportion."

They shared a laugh and Santino almost dragged Ezio off his horse when they rode by so that he could take more measurements for the armor he was making.

"_Bene, nipote_. I'll see you later."

"But uncle!"

But Mario was already riding away, laughter twinkling in his sighted eye.

Turning to the blacksmiths, Ezio chuckled. "I thought you already had your measurements from when you made the leather armor?"

Santino brushed the comment aside. "Ah, but _Ser_ Ezio, you've put on more muscle! Look at your shoulders, they're wider and your forearms are thicker! Unsurprising with all the climbing you do, and you've been doing a lot of climbing from what Marco and Carlo have been saying! Ah! And look at this new blade of yours! We must take this into account! Why, the precision of being able to work around such an elegant weapon is the greatest honor!"

"Enough, enough," Ezio chuckled. "I'll stay for a while, but I _do_ need to talk to my uncle eventually. And keep these measurements of yours. I'm sure that if we ever get a proper tailor in town, they'll likely need it."

"_Si, si_," Santino said, making Marco list numbers he rattled off and Carlo run out back to get some sample metals for Ezio to pick from. Apparently Ezio's previous tests had become the blacksmith's selling point, something the mercenaries enjoyed, seeing what Santino's armor could truly take in terms of force.

Eventually he was able to pull away and get back to the Villa.

Mario didn't need much for settling in, after all he always seemed to be heading out on horseback with his mercenaries for some reason or other, and he smiled widely when Ezio arrived.

"Ezio! Haha, come in, come in! To what do we owe the honor?"

Ezio chuckled. "Don't you mean 'to what do _we_ owe the honor'? It's become such a rarity to find you around lately."

Mario chuckled as well. "Still, it's good to see you've survived without me as a crutch. You've grown these last couple of months. You make me proud."

The young Florentine sat down in front of Mario's desk and sipped his glass of wine. It was time to get to business. "I've been sent from Firenze by _Il Magnifico_ to attend to some unfinished business. I'm looking for Jacopo de' Pazzi."

"Ha!" Mario scoffed. "Who isn't? We've been at it for days. It's why I was so late coming back to Monteriggioni."

"Then perhaps what I carry can help us both," Ezio offered, "a list of his co-conspirators. One of them _will_ talk before he dies."

"Excellent!" Mario gave a predatory smile. "These men are sure to lack Jacopo's vast resources, which means they will be easier to find. I will put my scouts on it at once."

"I appreciate the help, Uncle," Ezio smiled. The young Florentine may know Florence like the back of his hand, but _nobody_ knew Tuscany and the surrounding countryside like Mario. "I've got something else for you as well: more codex pages."

"Ah, let's see what we can learn," Mario started looking through the pages studiously, much like Ezio had as he waited for his uncle.

"What is this...? What prophet...?"

Ezio blinked. "What did you find, Uncle?" He didn't remember such a passage.

"Just another damn mystery," Mario growled. "Your friend is good, but I'm familiar with some of this Arabic more than him. The text roughly translates to: 'Only the prophet may open it...' There's a reference to two 'Pieces of Eden,' but these pages offer no answers, _nipote_. At least not on their own. You must find more."

Ezio pulled the page over, scanning it.

"_I have the answer now. I know the truth. I shall not touch that wretched thing again. Best that no one do, now or ever. I have tried - at last – to destroy it, but it will neither bend nor break nor melt. Oh the irony – I am certain if I asked, the Apple would tell me what need be done. But even this promise is insufficient. Always it holds one more gift to give. I must refrain. So it shall be sealed. We will take it to the island - once theirs, now ours. There is a treasury there – hidden well - and it shall have to suffice. Risky to separate myself from the artifact that others may discover it. Riskier still to keep it close. In time I will be tempted. I am weak. We all are. Who wouldn't be? Oh, the things I have seen... The tale is here – inside the text. Not between the lines but beneath them. Where only our eyes might peer. Go and see it for yourself. That you might succeed where I and the others have failed. Time marches on – bringing with it new discoveries and developments. And so at least one day the doorway might be opened and the message delivered. They will have their prophet._"

Prophet... Just what did that mean? A Piece of Eden sealed on an island that had traded hands? This talk of temptation... Without a reference it was meaningless. But...

"Not between the lines but beneath them," Ezio muttered, looking at the pages of the Codex. "The map?" He looked at the pages again, this time calling on his eagle, looking at the map underneath. There was... something. "We don't have enough pages," Ezio looked up to his uncle, his eyes still glowing. "I can see bits of the map, but I can only connect certain pages. Find more indeed, several pages more..."

Mario stared at Ezio, his mouth slightly open, before he sat back, eyes narrowed. "A prophet," he muttered, staring at Ezio, or perhaps through him.

"Uncle?"

But the thoughts behind Mario's eyes were going too fast for Ezio to understand. Then, at last, Mario nodded.

"You have a knack for finding these pages, _nipote_. Be sure to find more!"

Ezio chuckled. "We'll have to save it for another day, Uncle. I have a mission to attend to."

"As you wish," Mario nodded, a sly grin on his face. "Now, if you hope to defeat these _bastardi_, I will need to teach you a few things."

Ezio smiled and held up a different Codex page. "I think I have a few things to teach _you_."

As it turned out, Mario did _indeed_ have several things to teach him. When Ezio had last faced his uncle before going off to kill Vieri de' Pazzi, Ezio had taken great pride in finally being able to beat the old man. But it seemed that Mario had been holding back. Immensely. It seemed the only thing Ezio could still beat his uncle at were the new techniques from the Codex pages, and only barely because of his brief time of practice. And even in that, it wasn't long before Mario overtook him.

"I hope I have your energy when I reach your age," Ezio panted after a full day in the training right.

Mario only laughed. "Stay at being an Assassin, and you'll be in shape."

Still, it seemed his training had been stepped up manifold and he was working up a sweat under the increasingly hot early summer sun. The mercenaries and Ulderico not only put him through his paces, but also pushed at his endurance, strength, putting out prolonged bouts where Ezio stayed in the ring but fresh mercenaries replaced each other in waves to simulate how Ezio would face different guards in large groups.

It was grueling and tiring. But Ezio could almost swear that he felt all the lessons coalescing in his muscles, reactions speeding up and flowing before he'd even thought of them.

During all this training, in any free time Ezio found, he painted. One of the spoils of helping Lorenzo in Florence was going through the seized assets of the Pazzi and their supporters and among the items included paintings of the various people he was hunting. Ezio knew their faces well, so well that he was using the portraits he found as a basis for his own paintings. A way to study the faces of his targets without simply staring at their pictures. Given that these had been taken from Pazzi properties, Ezio also found portraits of Francesco and Vieri de' Pazzi, even the _Gonfaloniere_ Alberti, and Ezio practiced his painting with them as well. Ezio acknowledged that his kills of Alberti and Vieri were sloppy, amateurish, and disrespectful. And even if he _didn't_ respect these men in any way, he _did_ respect himself. He could not and would not stoop to their level, but he couldn't go back and change how he'd assassinated them. So he painted, in an attempt to give them dignity in the present where he couldn't in the past.

Ezio still wished to paint his father and brothers, but he didn't feel he had the skill yet. In time, perhaps.

July swiftly turned to August and the warm air remained incredibly dry. Mario and Ulderico were still beating him into the ground, but Mario's mercenaries sent in continual reports as they scoured the countryside, searching for Ezio's targets.

* * *

It was late August when word finally arrived that Archbishop Francesco Salviati had finally been located. Really, it was no wonder he'd been found so quickly, as the papal banker had decided to hide in his villa. The expansive compound was three days ride west of Monteriggioni, and was unsurprisingly, heavily guarded. After all, Salviati had papal funds to procure his protection.

Mario nodded as the young mercenary finished his report. "Ezio, this is another test for you."

Ezio nodded. "As you wish, _Zio_."

Mario looked to Ezio, measuring again, as seemed to be his habit lately. "You've proven thus far you can work well on your own. Now you will have to lead men. I give you one of my garrisons for this. Show this archbishop that his precious money can't hide him."

Ezio gave a solemn bow, understanding the weight Mario was giving him. Idly, he wondered if every Assassin in Italia went through such a thorough training, but pushed the thoughts aside. Mario was likely teaching him as he himself learned, the same way his father had likely learned. And if Giovanni could handle it, Ezio would make sure he could.

However, determined as Ezio was to succeed, he _did_ know that he was still young and didn't know much about leading others. So as Mario rode off to pursue another line of investigation, Ezio sat down with Ulderico to at least determine which men to bring with him.

It was a learning experience to say the least. Ezio, who fought in streets, alleys, and rooftops, naturally selected those who had the build and agility for it. Ulderico would cuff him on the head, and explain that to favor one type of fighter was suicide as weaknesses were easily determined. _Variety_ was the key and using each strength well and knowing _how_ was what made a leader.

Ezio finally rode out with thirty men and a wagon of food and supplies for their trek across the Tuscany countryside. The men took to Ezio well enough, the young Florentine able to use his charm and easy-going personality to fit right in. They laughed and talked of various exploits during the ride until, a half-day away with Salviati's villa over the next hill, Ezio called a halt.

"So, boy, what are we to do?" one of the captains asked.

Ezio had been thinking long and hard about this as they'd been riding.

"I'd like one or two of you to come with me while we scout out the area."

The captain blinked. "Oh?"

Ezio gave a grin. "I don't suppose you know the layout of the villa already?"

The captain shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Chuckling, Ezio shook his head. "I want to make sure that they don't have hidden weapons and resources to surprise us. Salviati has more funds than we do, so we need to know what we're up against."

"Ha! I see why Mario is training you so hard," the captain laughed.

Ezio brushed the compliment aside. "Well, now we need to find a pig."

Ezio and the captain, dressed as farmers, let the pig loose into the walled in villa with a supply wagon, chasing after it. The guards and servants of the villa ended up chasing after it as well as the wild pig started to cause all sorts of problems as it ran around and no one seemed to be able to get a hold of it. Gardens were trampled, servers tripped sending food flying, and the women started to scream, not wanting to be touched by such a filthy animal.

As the chaos continued, Ezio and the captain both took careful note of the villa's layout, where the guards were positioned, and how organized they were. Once they had what they needed, they helped in the effort to capture the pig (which had gotten into the villa proper and the kitchens, eating anything it could get its snout into) and offering apology after apology as they dragged the swine out.

"_Ser_ Ezio," the captain laughed as they returned the pig to the original owner, "I like the way you think."

Still, they had the information they needed.

That night was planning. Ezio had the basics of a plan he wanted to implement, but the captain provided many insights from his long experience that Ezio never would have thought of. The plan, as a result, was far more collaborative, Ezio learning from an experienced veteran and the captain looking at things in a new light with Ezio's young, learned perspective.

The men would be divided into teams of three, so that they could enter the compound in waves. The main gate was the only way in, not even a servant's entrance existed, so it was better to come in with waves, throw the guards off by increasing numbers and keeping them guessing. The mercenary teams also had certain directions to go in, staggering their approaches to create more confusion. And during all the chaos, Ezio would be able to slip in, unnoticed, to the villa and find Archbishop Salviati.

The key, however, was getting the gate open. That was also Ezio's task. He would sneak in under the cover of night and open the gates. While command over his own army was a nice change of pace from the usual sneaking and stabbing, the sneaking and stabbing remained his greatest strength.

The following night, after a day of rest and preparing, Ezio slipped through the fields in the moonlight, the captain and two of his men there to help Ezio should any need arise before he was able to get into the villa.

At the edge of the fields, Ezio glanced around, waiting for a cloud to pass over the moon, and snuck forward to outlying buildings for some of the servants and farmers of the villa. Under an overhang, he studied the buildings as the moon came out again, plotting the roofs and if any of them could get him to the villa.

He saw a path and easily scaled a wall, staying low to the tiles as the captain and his men approached from below.

"_Ser_ Ezio, what are you doing?" the captain hissed up to him. "We can't follow you there!'

"I need to follow a path on the roofs. Watch for my shadows. You'll know where I am."

There was a grumbling nod and Ezio stayed still, pressed against the roof and waiting. He scanned the path with utter scrutiny, but saw no problems ahead of him. So, silently, he leapt to the roof across from him and started to crouch his way forward. The mercenaries followed below him as he approached higher and higher.

_Twang_.

Ezio sucked in a silent breath as something pierced his shoulder, making him lose his balance in a jump. He hit the tiles hard and instinct had him turning as he slid down to the edge, seeing the silhouette of a bowman in the distance and sending a knife flying, satisfied to hear the grunt of a good hit. But it was too late for him as Ezio didn't have time to grasp the edge of the roof and he tumbled down. He grasped a trellis that gave way under his weight, grasped vines growing up the side of the building, and slowed his descent enough that the captain and his men caught Ezio before more damage could be done.

"_Merde_," Ezio hissed. He glanced behind him to see an arrow in his back, having pierced his leather armor.

"Get that spaulder off!" the captain growled at his men. A dagger came out and cut the end of the arrow off cleanly and the spaulders were both removed. The dagger cut at Ezio's doublet and shirt, tearing it open and one of the men grabbed the arrow carefully, right where it was sticking out of Ezio's shoulder. Ezio braced himself and nodded and with a harsh _yank_ the arrow was out and Ezio was breathing as hard as he could to keep from crying out.

"We'll have to scrap the mission," the captain said, applying some soft cloth and then a wrapping a bandage over it.

"No," Ezio grunted, testing the shoulder. "They'll find the guard in the morning and know someone tried. Salviati will escape and we'll lose our chance. We'll keep going."

The captain's lips thinned. "You can't climb like that."

Ezio thought back to that horrible day his family died, how his muscles burned after running and climbing so much over the course of the day and night. He'd survived that and still faced off with Vieri on the way to Monteriggioni. He could do this as well. "I can climb one-handed if I have to," he replied grimly. "Once I'm on the roofs it won't be a problem. You and your men will be the ones doing the fighting. Be careful."

"Are you sure?"

Ezio didn't even bother to reply, instead scaling the three-story building he'd just fell off of and swiftly making it to the roof once more.

He stayed still for a moment, ignoring the sharp stabs of his shoulder, and assessed his surroundings once more. He even reached for the sense of an eagle's clarity to see anything he could, concentrating.

For the first time, instead of gold, he thought he saw a flicker of red ahead of him, pacing, but it was a weak flicker and Ezio blinked, losing his concentration and wondering just what he'd seen.

The moon shined down clear once more and Ezio saw a bowman, yawning on the roof of the wall that surrounded the villa.

Ezio pulled out one of his throwing knives and sent it flying. The guard grunted then toppled forward to the captain and his men. Ezio leapt forward, jumping from beam to beam until he was atop the wall. Further down, he saw another guard in the moonlight and sent another knife flying, aiming for when the men would fall outside of the villa, instead of inside where guards were patrolling. He waited for clouds to pass overhead before moving, not wishing his shadow to be seen.

At last, he reached the gate. This was going to _hurt_ with one shoulder bleeding, but needed to be done. Blowing out the candle nearby to keep his presence hidden, he started the arduous task of raising the gate. Once it was high enough, a mercenary slipped in and took over and Ezio grunted his thanks.

"I see you there, Assassin!" A frantic cry from above came. "These walls have stood for a hundred years and will stand for a hundred more! Stop wasting the lives of your men! Go! Go away! All that awaits you here is death! Turn back!"

Ezio turned to his first two teams as they raced in, weapons high and shouting.

Really, he doubted he'd ever turn back now.

"Men prepare yourselves, the assassin has arrived!" Salviati cried.

The fighting broke out and chaos arrived as the teams engaged different guards and started to battle. Ezio took his opportunity to slip into the shadows and catch his breath.

"I warned you to stay away, Assassin!" Salviati shouted from on high. "You should have listened! You're finished, Assassin! Do you hear me?! Finished!"

"You Templars, always singing the same song..." Ezio shouted back.

"Do you think a few mercenaries scare me? Hah!"

"They should."

Ezio saw another wave of his men come roaring through the gate and Ezio took his chance to slip into an open window into the villa. Salviati sounded like he was on the upper floors. It wouldn't take long to find him.

"Shall I send your remains to that drunkard, Mario? Hah! What's the point? There won't be anything left of you to recognize!"

Salviati was still shouting out whatever window he was from and Ezio ignored him as he slipped through the chaotic house as servants were rushing about, checking on loved ones and tending to wounded guards who found a way in before Ezio's men killed them.

"I am a reasonable man. What say you to this: turn back now and I'll call off my men."

"Sorry, friend," Ezio smiled as he finally entered Salviati's room and found him rushing to pack a trunk. "You are on my list. Your fate is sealed."

"Tear him limb from limb!" the archbishop shouted. "Let us paint the walls with his blood!"

"That is no way to treat a guest!"

"Guards! To me!"

Two guards came bursting into the room, one with a broadsword that cut into Ezio's exposed thigh. But Ezio pulled out his dagger, better suited for such close quarters, and snuck under the other guard's swing and stabbed him in the back. The first guard swung again, but Ezio dodged, the sword sinking into the floorboards and getting stuck, which allowed Ezio to slip behind him, pull his head back, and slice his dagger across the exposed throat, blood spraying everywhere.

The archbishop was covered in blood and Ezio stumbled forward to reach him.

Salviati seemed to see a chance to escape and rushed forward, but a shadow appeared from the doorway stabbed the archbishop in the stomach, pushing him down. One of the servants. The servant trembled, looking at what he'd done, but held the knife in front of him regardless.

Ezio nodded to him and eased his way over.

"Where is Jacopo?" Ezio growled at the cowering and bleeding archbishop. A man so hungry and greedy for power he tried to have _Il Magnifico_ killed for snubbing him.

"He knows you come for him..." Salviati gasped, "emerging only in darkness to meet with the others..."

"That answers when... Now tell me where?" Salviati said nothing, as pain overtook him and he passed out.

Ezio heaved a sigh. The stomach would bleed out, ensuring a slow death. But he would show this man more respect than that. He hobbled over and sat down, the servant watching everything with his knife still out. Ezio's hidden blade dug into the man's heart and Ezio offered a few words. "Faith should bring comfort, not pain. _Requiescat in Pace_."

"Thank you, _Messere_," the servant who had stabbed Salviati said, finally dropping the knife with a heavy sigh of relief. "This man, he had my brother killed for simply sending a letter. _Thank you_."

Ezio, breathing heavily, looked at the man. "You can't stay here. The blood on your clothes, the others will know you helped."

The man nodded. "I'm just a gardener, _Messere_. I can work at any villa."

Ezio smiled. "I happen to have need of a gardener at _my_ villa. What's your name?"

"Biaggio. Thank you, _Messere_! Thank you!"

"Before you thank me, help me get out of here."

"Of course! Of course, _Messere_!"

Biaggio grabbed Ezio's arm and the young Florentine tried not to hiss as it pulled at his shoulder, and limped back down through the villa. He pulled them into shadows or dark rooms if guards ran by, demanding what orders Salviati had of them, and held Biaggio's mouth as the man gasped, realizing just what it would take to get out of here.

But they made it out to the courtyard, where Ezio's men had formed a perimeter, as planned.

"_Ser_ Ezio!' the captain hissed.

"Let's get out of here."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hah, another boring chapter, but it's going to lead to something good, I promise!

Much like with Masyaf, we're taking the time to populate Monteriggioni. (cough cough Brotherhood cough) with people who have a connection to Ezio and can be memorable/recognizable to the reader. We also show, a little bit, about how the town is starting to change for the better. Claudia gets to shine a little bit as it becomes increasingly obvious that she's the one who's in charge of the city's finances, and even Maria has one small moment to show that even she is healing from the ordeal.

Also note that Ezio is taking up painting. Those portraits in the game had to come from someone, and Leonardo sure didn't paint them. We kind of like the idea that these assassins have hobbies outside of stabbity-deaths. Altair had blacksmithing, Ezio painting, we'll be curious what Conner's hobby is... And we start laying the groundwork for Ezio's, er, promiscuity. Neither of us were really comfortable with the idea of him just screwing anyone in sight, and so we very carefully constructed how he goes about bedding all the women in Italia. More on that in future chapters. There's also the training of course; unlike the game work like that needs to be kept at and kept at over one's entire life to maintain the muscle memory and speed and strength necessary. Also note that Ezio's eagle vision is starting to evolve - we have to keep Revelations in mind, and so it appears slightly here. More than anything else this is a chapter to show that Ezio is starting to grow - particularly with his first of the list of assassinations performed in San Gimignano. You'll see more of the learning curve in the next few chapters.

Of which: next week: Ezio slowly starts to wind up to a fever pitch.


	11. Death of Conspirators II

**Part Eleven: Death of Conspirators II**

The mercenaries had fared much better in the fight than Ezio, and the captain immediately put him to the cart with the gardener, tying his horse to another and riding for almost three hours before stopping. "They won't look this far out," he said, hopping into the cart with two of his lieutenants. "Let's look at that leg."

The gash Ezio had taken from the broadsword was deep - fast though he had been - and even after ripping several strips of cloth from his cape to tie off the injury it was still oozing blood. The twenty-year old felt light-headed on top of the pain, but he utterly refused to faint.

"_Merda_," the captain cursed, examining the slash and motioning for one of the lieutenants. The mercenary opened up his pack and began pulling out bandages and needles, and a wineskin that the captain immediately made Ezio drink from before pouring it over the injury, causing the young Florentine to hiss in surprise.

"_Merda!_" Ezio cursed, "That's no way to use wine!" But the captain and his two men had already lit a candle and were heating a needle, pulling out thread. When the burning hot needle first touched Ezio's skin, his muscles instinctively jerked away and he cried out. "What are you _doing_?"

"Keeping Alfeo from killing me," the captain said, "Or Mentor, for that matter."

This was nothing like the stitches he had received for his lip the night Frederico taught him to climb. There were no gentle hands, or reassuring presence, or even a kind word; just quick, clinical, rough work, and Ezio nearly passed out before the surgery was done. Then the captain turned to his other men and began assessing them, and Ezio realized that this, too, was part of being in charge: looking after the men he was to lead. He felt ashamed at his childish cries, watching as the other mercenaries took their stitches or bandaging with no complaint, barely even a hiss, and he felt like a child for the first time since his father died and he assumed himself head of the family.

The ride back to Monteriggioni seemed to take forever to Ezio, injured in both his body and his pride. The captain had sent one of the men ahead, and as dawn approached Mario, Claudia, and the doctor Alfeo all stood at the gates; Mario with a hard face, Claudia painfully impatient, and Alfeo stoic and still.

"You _idiot!_" Claudia immediately cried out, running up to the cart. "How can you expect to protect us if you can't even look after _yourself!_ Do you have any idea how worried we were when Antonio came riding in saying you were hurt? What were you possibly-"

"_Piccina_," Mario said in a low, gravely voice, "If you cannot be quiet then you cannot be here, do you understand?"

Red faced, Claudia turned to her uncle to offer a temperamental retort, but he fixed her with his one-eyed gaze and she backed down.

The spindly doctor Alfeo, meanwhile, adjusted his cracked mask as he climbed onto the cart. "How bad?" he asked.

"Twelve stitches," the captain said. "Don't worry, I remembered to heat the needle this time."

"Did you boil the thread?"

"..."

"How many times do I have to go over this?" Alfeo demanded. "I'll have to redo them. Come on, let's get him to the apothecary. Are there any others as bad off as _Ser_ Ezio?"

"No."

"Then they can wait until tomorrow. Let's go."

Ezio couldn't stop the grunt in his chest as he was lifted out of the cart and carried to the doctor's residence, several candles already lit and the heavy aroma of everything from sheep's urine to lead to pomegranate to leeches to herbs Ezio didn't even try to identify. The doctor was already uncorking a bottle of leeches, but Ezio weakly knocked it away.

"You need it _Messer_, to get rid of the bad blood."

"The last thing I need is the loss of _more_ blood," Ezio said, his baritone hard.

"A difficult patient, I see. Very well, I'll just wait until you've passed out." And Alfeo put the leeches away, pulling thread out of a boiling kettle and putting a needle up to a candle. Ezio took a deep breath, not relishing going through this _again_, and shifted his weight as best he could. Claudia, gone from hot tempered to utterly white at the sight of the injury, shook like a leaf beside him, and Ezio reached up and grabbed her hand. "I'll be fine, _piccina_," he said in his strongest voice. "You know me, I like to live dangerously." His eighteen-year-old sister blinked, looking at him in surprise and confusion. "Do you not remember?" he asked in a light voice, "All the night guards knew Federico's and my name. On sight. Do you remember all the complaints father would receive?"

She snorted, rolling her eyes slightly. "I remember the other girls always talking about you, wanting to know how _impressive_ you were."

"You exalted my charms and personality."

"No," she sniffed. "I told them you were smaller than Petruccio."

"_Claudia!_" he cried out shocked, before hissing as the doctor pulled out the captain's stitches. His breathing quickened a moment, scaring his sister, but he quickly brought himself under control and gave a snide retort. "Were that your figure was as big as your mouth."

"_Ezio!_ Just because I don't have much weight doesn't mean that I'm not attractive!"

"No, you're the most beautiful girl in Monteriggioni."

"Woman, big brother. I'm a _woman_."

"Who's so exacting she still can't find a husband."

"Says the man who's still smaller than Petruccio."

Alfeo began the new stitches, and Ezio and Claudia both kept insulting each other, angering and surprising and distracting each other from the work that needed to be done. Another twelve stitches later, Alfeo was disrobing Ezio of his doublet and linens, looking at the arrow injury. "At least this was treated well," he murmured, insensitive hands exploring the wounds. Ezio winced and hissed, sweating from the pain he was in, but he kept talking to Claudia, and she kept responding, the two working through the surgery until it was midmorning.

"All finished, _Messer_," Alfeo said. "You'll need to stay off the leg for several days, possibly even a week; I'll come by then to take out the stitches. Use this salve and use some leeches at least once a day to keep the bad blood out."

"Of course," Ezio said, stoutly planning the exact opposite in terms of leeches.

"I'm surprised you didn't pass out. Most would have by now."

Ezio offered a level glare but did not respond. He was many things, but "most" was not one of them. He slowly swung his legs to the floor, gingerly testing his weight before cursing and looking to his sister with helpless frustration. Claudia was already offering her shoulder, however, and she helped him hop out of the shop. Several of the townspeople looked at their patron and in less than five minutes a mother arrived with a crutch, she and her three children trailing after Ezio to see if there was more they could do. Santino left his shop, staring in horror, before muttering about metals and better armor and shouting to Marco and Carlo to get to work. One of the carpenters quickly crafted a second, makeshift crutch, and with two of them Ezio could swing instead of hobble - save that he didn't put all his weight on his bad shoulder - and he and his sister made better time back to the villa. He was _exhausted_, and all he wanted to do was go to bed for a week, but as leader of the mission, he instead limped his way into his uncle's office and gave his report, explaining everything that happened from the greased pig to the archer to the gardener.

Mario nodded, slowly. "You've had a long night, _nipote_. Rest."

"It's about time," Claudia said, helping her brother up and setting him to bed.

Ezio woke to his mother praying by his bedside, and a long string of well-wishers to bid him a speedy recovery.

A week later, Alfeo came as he said he would and gave a disapproving look when he saw how starved his precious leeches were, but he said nothing as he pulled out the stitches.

"Doctor," Ezio said, twitching as the thread was pulled out of his thigh. His _shoulder_ didn't hurt this much and _it_ had gotten the _arrow_. "Can you teach me?"

The tall man looked up, his cracked beak crooked on his face. "Pardon?"

The young Florentine hissed again, the man had no sensitivity in his hands, but he pressed on. "I was lucky that night," he said, "that the captain knew that I needed stitches, and knew - mostly - how to give them. I may not be so lucky the next time. Can you teach me how to treat myself if there's no one else around?"

"You mean beside the simple advice of avoiding arrows and broadswords?"

"_Si,_" Ezio said with some irritation. "Besides that."

The doctor took off his beaked mask, running his gloved hands through his thick matte of dark hair. Alfeo's face was bony and as gangly as the rest of him. He sighed. "Come see me next week," he said, "And we'll see if you're any better at learning than that idiot mercenary."

"It's a deal," Ezio said, smiling.

Though his leg and shoulder were impaired, Ezio just couldn't sit still for his recovery. He watched the practice ring with Ulderico, trying to learn what he could of strategy and pestered the mercenary mercilessly on when he could get back in to the ring to learn. Ulderico steadfastly refused to let Ezio pick up a sword until Ezio could run up the grand stairs of the villa without being winded _and_ climb the face of Monteriggioni _and_ back down with no arm hurting.

Ezio grumbled about this.

Going down into the town was difficult with a bad shoulder on the crutches, and Claudia was always flitting here and there instead, looking into how the construction was going, haggling better prices, and so on. Mario was once more out in the countryside, searching down the leads that Ezio, confined to the villa as he was, could not. He spent time with his mother, Annetta often hovering nearby, but those times were painful as Maria didn't truly respond.

Alfeo gave his lessons when he did his weekly check up on Maria, and Ezio studied the books the doctor left behind, learning about stitches, what herbs to mix for a quick salve, and all sorts of interesting things for field medicine, depending on where he was. Granted, Ezio had a healthy dose of being skeptical on some of the cures: leeches, lead, and sheep's urine being at the tops of the list for various reasons. (People didn't _eat_ steel or copper, so why drink lead? Urine was meant to _leave_ a body, not reenter it...) Still Ezio sat down one afternoon with the town doctor and went over the small bag of medical supplies he had when he left Monteriggioni, seeing what was good to keep and what needed replacing. Alfeo, having outfitted many a mercenary's medkit, took Ezio through a more compact, but useful medkit that used the bandages to cushion vials of useful elixirs and a tiny booklet of what plants to keep an eye out for.

Still waiting for Ulderico's permission to get back to his training, Ezio also spent time painting. It was during this sick time, when he couldn't move much, that he gained the most ground in his paintings, finally getting certain methods correct and feeling confident enough in his ability to try things on his own. Specifically a portrait of his mother, who had no problems sitting still.

Ezio also spent time with the Codex pages they'd found. They continued to pull at his heart, and he was certain he saw something in the words that was just out of his grasp of understanding. He also read his father's journals, trying to see if Giovanni was like Ezio at this age or if Ezio still had work to do. His father was a great man, and Ezio couldn't help but wonder, especially now that he could do nothing for a time, if he would ever match his father's greatness.

A month later, however, of taking it easy, and Ezio could no longer stand it. Ulderico's permission or not, the stitches had been removed and, while the muscles were weak and tired him out, he took up his training once more. No one knew when news of the next conspirator would arrive, so Ezio sought to ensure he was ready.

The weather started to cool as autumn settled around the countryside. Alfeo called Ezio down into town once or twice to assist him in a surgery and see how procedures went.

News trickled into the villa slowly, and none were of what Ezio wanted to hear, such as the Pope's nephew Girolamo Riario, Lord of Imola, and his teenage wife, Caterina Sforza, giving birth to their first child. Ezio tried not to think of it, knowing that investigations took time and that he could do nothing while he was still healing, but he still worked as hard as he could and tried not to be impatient.

It wasn't until late November that Mario arrived with word of finding another of the conspirators. And a new toy.

"We've found Stefano da Bagnone," Mario said to Ezio by the training ring. "He's hiding in an abbey a few days ride from here. In fact, he's been kicked out of the abbey he stays in due to blasphemous words, I hear, which is why he's only just now appeared in our laps."

"Then I must be on my way, _zio_," Ezio replied, rotating his shoulder and glad that it was finally back to condition. His leg was still on the weak side, but was getting better.

"Not quite yet, _nipote_," Mario placed a heavy hand on said shoulder. "I've found out about a new toy that I want to show you."

"Uncle, it's been almost a year since the attack on _Il Magnifico_. Lorenzo has already returned from Napoli with great success. We've only found _one_ of the conspirators and still no Jacopo de' Pazzi. I need to go 'talk' to Stefano da Bagnone."

"Ah, to be young again and always in a rush," Mario smiled. "Very well, _nipote_, you can leave after you find me."

"_Find_ you?"

But Ezio didn't get an answer as there was a loud _bang_ and smoke suddenly engulfed the two of them. He could hear Mario running, but couldn't tell the direction with his ears ringing from the bang and the smoke masking directionality. He called upon his eagle and found it just as blind.

Coughing, Ezio stumbled out of the smoke, his eyes watering.

"Uncle!" Ezio called out, then coughed again. "I _like_ this new toy of yours!"

Once he had his breathing back under control, he started to hunt down his uncle with a smile.

The one difficulty of the smoke bombs was that the supplies necessary to build them weren't readily available in Italy. Further east, in Constantinople, it was almost common, but here it took time to order. Mario had placed such an order, or rather Claudia had insisted she should, and through several different places so no one noticed such a large amount was headed to them and wondered why, and Ezio looked at the five smoke bombs he had and decided to use them sparingly.

Ezio left alone, as he didn't need to storm a villa like for Salviati, and an abbey wouldn't look very kindly at a host of mercenaries arriving to look for someone. Claudia came down to the gate to see him off, _insisting_ he be careful this time as she noticed he would still limp after too much exertion. He promised her he would and hugged her close.

The ride took longer than Ezio was anticipating, as his leg needed stretching and shorter bursts of riding to prevent aching. Even after three months the muscle still wasn't back to the conditioning Ezio was used to. It was frustrating, but Ezio pushed it aside.

Hours away from the abbey, Ezio went to a cluster of trees and prepared himself. He kept his hidden blades and the dagger in his boot. His throwing knives stayed on his belt, but he hid his sword in his travel pack, along with his armor. Instead, he wore the heavy brown robes of a priest and a wooden cross on a string. While it was not the hood he had been wearing for years now, the robes _did_ have a hood to hide his face. From there it was just a matter of riding at a slower pace and appearing to be contemplative.

The abbey welcomed him and Ezio sat down on a bench with his travel pack in the courtyard. All around him was a sea of brown, priests and monks conversing, praying, and going from one part of the abbey to another. Mario had said it was a large abbey but Ezio had not been expecting so many priests. To find just one would be a nightmare.

If one didn't have Ezio's gift. With his hood still down, Ezio called on that strange vision that was unique to only him in his family, the sharp eyes of an eagle he was named for. His surroundings faded in color and Ezio saw the gold of what he was seeking flitting through the crowds.

Ezio swallowed a smile. _Too easy_.

An autumn breeze blew through the courtyard and Ezio involuntarily shivered, as did several other priests, and Ezio paused, hearing the distinct clink of sheathed swords.

Ezio eyed his surroundings once more, looking at the sea of brown. Everyone was almost indistinguishable from anyone else. Instead, Ezio looked to the feet that passed him, and indeed saw swords pointing out from under robes, boots that were too expensive for a priest, and hands too calloused for a life of prayer.

He called on his eagle again, looking around once more at those around him and looked more intently at one of the sword-bearing priests. As he focused, Ezio thought he heard the shriek of an eagle overhead. Slowly, as Ezio concentrated, those who bore arms started to flicker with red.

Enemies.

Lots of enemies.

_Damn_. Ezio looked to the gold of Stefano da Bagnone, and saw that he had two disguised guards walking beside him. The red flickered still, something Ezio was not used to looking for, but he had always trusted this vision of his. He would not stop now.

What to do... Ezio turned to the priest beside him and attempted to strike up a conversation, keeping his eyes on Stefano, who was by the door of the abbey, talking with another priest. It seemed like he'd be there a while in whatever heated debate, so Ezio took the time to strike up a friendly conversation with his neighbor.

After about ten minutes of amiable conversation, Ezio put on another shiver. "It's quite chilly out here. Why don't we go inside?"

"I think that's a good idea."

Ezio lifted his pack and started ambling along with his new friend. Together they walked towards the door where Stefano was still talking and paused, listening to the heated debate.

"Let us pray brother," an elderly priest beside Stefano said, running a hand over his bald head.

"Pray? Pray for what?" Stefano grumbled.

"The Lord's protection!"

"If you think the Lord has any interest in our affairs," Stefano said coldly, "you've another thing coming. But please, by all means, continue to delude yourself if it helps to pass the time."

The bald priest's face was slack in shock. "You speak blasphemy!"

"No. I speak truth."

"But to deny His most exalted existence..."

"...Is the only rational response when faced with the declaration that there exists some invisible madman in the sky. And believe me, if your precious Bible is anything to go by, he's completely lost his mind."

"'Your' Bible," Ezio's companion grunted. "That's '_our_' Bible. He's supposed to be one of us."

"He must be facing a crisis of faith," Ezio replied quietly. "I hear he's been moved from abbey to abbey as he deals with it."

"God forgive me, but I hope he'll be moved on from our abbey. Such words..."

Stefano's companion seemed upset as well. "How can you speak as such? You wear His vestments..."

"Only because they afforded me the opportunity to get close to the Medici," Stefano said bitterly. "But you're right, I should look into replacing them - after the Assassin is dealt with."

"Ah! That unholy demon!"

"At least on this we agree."

"Indeed," Ezio's friend agreed. "Thou shalt not kill."

To this, Ezio gave a soft chuckle. "Yet the Pope has ordered deaths and war with the Crusades."

Ezio's friend laughed as well. "Ah, we forget these little things. But the Bible..."

"They say the devil has gifted him with unnatural speed and strength," Stefano's companion nodded. "An unholy demon to be sure."

"The devil?" Stefano actually laughed. "No. These are gifts he gave himself, through training. It is disturbing how unwilling you are to credit people for their circumstances. I think you'd make victims out of the entire world if you could."

"I forgive your lack of faith and forked tongue," the bald priest retorted. "You are still one of His children."

"I told you... Oh, what's the use," Stefano grumbled. "Enough of this! It's like speaking to the wind."

"I will pray for you."

"As you wish. But do so quietly. I must keep watch. "

"A hunted man, that one," Ezio's companion sighed.

"It would seem so."

They had passed to the door of the abbey and Ezio pulled out a smoke bomb and dropped it. There were shouts of surprise as people tried to stumble out of the harsh smoke and yelped and screamed at the sudden noise. The guards, those who had flickered red in Ezio's unique sight, tried to approach but could see nothing.

As for Stefano, Ezio's blade had bit into his lung from behind and he gently brought the priest down.

Stefano coughed. "Now I will see who was right... if there is a God or a Madman..."

"Where is Jacopo?" Ezio demanded.

"Nothing to fear I suppose..." Stefano coughed again. "They meet in the shadows of the Roman Gods..."

"Be free of your fear now," Ezio said quietly. "_Requiescat in pace._"

With a nimbleness that he knew he would pay for later, Ezio climbed the abbey wall to the roof with his pack over his shoulder and then down the other side as another autumn breeze started to blow away the smoke. From there it was easy to find his horse and be on his way.

* * *

Claudia was much happier when he returned to Monteriggioni unhurt compared to the last time he had shown up. Life settled back into routine, with Ezio training, learning, painting, helping out in town, helping his mother, and keeping busy. Mario returned and stayed through December, where they spent another solemn Christmas together, marking the third year since Giovanni, Frederico, and Petruccio's deaths. Claudia's birthday managed to be happier, particularly when Maria hugged her without any prompting.

Winter settled in, cold and rainy, and even moved on into spring.

Ezio was starting to get impatient again, as the one-year mark of the Pazzi's conspiracy approached. He started asking Mario - when his uncle was in the villa - what he could do to help things along, get things moving.

Finally Mario was fed up. "We've had the most rumors out of San Gimignano, _nipote_, go bug them!"

So Ezio packed his horse once again and left. He was at peak condition again, and the heavy training with Mario and Ulderico were showing improvements in almost everything he did. Ulderico had taken to training him on horseback, both to get Ezio used to long rides and to defend himself from mounted enemies.

With the funding Monteriggioni was receiving from the improvements, Ezio was able to afford a room at a small tavern and would be able to stay there as long as necessary. It was his first time really in the town, excluding his chaotic night when he killed Vieri de' Pazzi and Ezio took almost two weeks to familiarize himself with the various nooks and crannies natural to a town built on a hill. The towers were impressive and Ezio longed to climb them, his eyes often plotting out paths along the facades that he could easily scale. It would be a several hour investment, but the challenge of it called to him.

But there were guards on top and Ezio did not wish to kill needlessly.

So he stayed to the streets, occasionally going to a roof to get a better feel for the levels, and talked to the mercenaries he found and recognized from Monteriggioni. Ezio also used his special sight, as often as he could. He'd only used it briefly before and after not finding Francesco de' Pazzi before the attack on Lorenzo, getting shot in the shoulder while infiltrating Salviati's villa, and the horde of enemies that surrounded Stefano da Bagnone, Ezio knew his vision could do more. He _needed_ it to do more. So he trained. Focused on finding certain items, or paying urchins to hide something so that he might track and find it. Looking at guards and trying to determine if they were the danger of red or not.

After a month in San Gimignano, Ezio was getting impatient again.

One afternoon, however, Ezio ran, quite literally, into a young woman carrying a basket of groceries.

"My apologies," Ezio offered, helping her gather her food. He noted that she was wearing the black of mourning, "let me help you."

"Thank you," the woman said. She was easily in her thirties, and very beautiful. "It's been a long time since any young man offered me aide."

"Then you haven't faced any real men," he replied with a smooth grin. She was definitely kind on the eyes.

She blushed, and smiled right back at him. "My home is this way," she said. "It's felt incredibly empty since my husband died."

"My condolences."

The woman smiled. "More like congratulations. That man only knew how to use his fists."

Ezio shook his head. "I'll never understand the need to strike down such beautiful things."

The widow arched an eyebrow at him and smiled. They continued to chat amicably. At the widow's home, she smiled coyly, and arched her brow prettily at him again. "Would you like to come in?"

Ezio couldn't quite stop the smile. It seemed he still had his touch. It would take his mind away from the frustrations of hunting down the conspirators, to say nothing of how excellent he would feel afterwards. He offered his own grin, leaned down, and kissed the corner of her mouth. "I'll come in wherever you want me to."

She smiled and shut the door behind them. Ezio helped her put the bags in the kitchen before she led him up to her rooms. Armor and clothes were dispensed of and Ezio, for the first time since Cristina, admired a woman. He kissed her, a hand reaching down to-

* * *

"Fast-forward the damn memory!"

"Oops, sorry Desmond."

"Baby Assassin."

"Come on, guys. Grow up."

* * *

The next morning, feeling much better, he left. He checked in at the tavern he was staying at to find a courier had come, telling Ezio he was needed at a tavern across town.

It was all Ezio needed and he headed out quickly.

The tavern was clearly cheaper than the one Ezio stayed at (and even _that_ tavern was on the cheap side, as Ezio didn't know how long he'd be staying...) and was serving the remains of a breakfast crowd that had dwindled down to a handful.

"Ezio!" it was the captain Ezio had worked with when going after Salviati, Estachio. "About time you got here. We've found Bernardo Baroncelli. Sort of."

"This is good news!" Ezio smiled, laying down the coin for the meal Estachio was having. "Tell me where he is and I'll see that he's dealt with."

"That's the trouble," the captain grunted, sipping his wine. "Lorenzo actually had him arrested days ago, after being returned to us from Constantinople."

"Constantinople! No wonder we haven't found him," Ezio leaned back. "It takes time to sail and then come back."

"But he escaped!" Estachio grunted. "We believe him to be somewhere inside San Gimignano."

"_Va bene_. I'll see if I can't pin him down," Ezio said with confidence, already planning what he needed to do to hunt down his next target.

"How do you expect to succeed where the rest of us have failed?"

"I have my ways..." Ezio smiled. "Can we get me to the top of any of these towers?"

Atop one of the shorter towers of San Gimignano, Ezio focused intently on what he wanted to see, narrowing his gaze, calling on his inner eagle to help sharpen his eyes. He kept looking around the town, studying, seeing, trying to find that hint of gold that would indicate where he needed to see.

He had been at this for _hours_, and he was feeling a sort of strain. Estachio said nothing, just watched as Ezio studied the town over and over again.

_Finally_, off to the east, Ezio thought he caught the barest flickers.

"He's to the east," Ezio said, letting out a breath and sinking down to rest. He rubbed his burning eyes and took another deep breath. "He's somewhere east of us."

"_Bene_," Estachio said, skeptically. "I'll send my men there to keep an eye out."

Little did Ezio realize, this feat would create a rumor, almost a legend, which would reach all the way to Constantinople.

After a night of rest, Ezio joined some of the captain's men in wandering around the eastern wall of San Gimignano, switching to his eagle's vision when his eyes weren't burning, until he at last saw a trail of gold, something he was far more familiar with.

He switched his posture, adjusted his hidden blades, and checked all his gear. "This way."

Off in the distance, slinking from shadow to shadow, was the plump Bernardo Baroncelli.

"...I just need to take things one day at a time..." the man muttered constantly to himself.

"He'll get bored... Lost... Confused... Distracted... _Killed_... It'll be okay..." Clearly, he was scared of someone; likely Ezio given that he'd taken down two other conspirators.

"And if he does come... If it happens... I keep moving... Never in one place for long... Only... Only how to sleep... _When_ to sleep... Where to sleep..."

Ezio watched the man, his feathered cap askew, seemed to be making steady progress forward to one of the towers.

"The guard tower perhaps..." Bernardo muttered. "They'll think me mad... They don't know... I'll pay them, yes... Then what will it matter... All they care about is coin... All anyone cares about is coin... Good for the brotherhood... Good for me... Safer this way... Yes... Yes..."

Ahead was a well, and Ezio motioned for the men with him to wait. Swiftly, he scaled the ladder in the alley next to them and flew across the roofs. Bernardo wasn't there yet...

He leapt down to a dark alley and watched Bernardo, now behind Ezio, startle at the sound.

"Wait! What is that... I saw something... Another mercenary come to _spy_ on me... No... No... Just my nerves... Hard to stay calm knowing that he seeks me... I must stay focused... And soon this will be done... Soon..."

While Bernardo tried to calm himself down Ezio dashed to the well and leapt inside, holding tightly onto the lip.

Bernardo Baroncelli, still muttering to himself, sat down in the shadow of the well and Ezio took his moment to strike. He pulled himself up, grabbing the plump man by the throat.

"I knew you would come..." Bernardo whispered.

"Where is Jacopo?" Ezio demanded.

"So you can do to him what you've done to me?"

Ezio let out a soft sigh into the feathers of Bernardo's cap. "There is still time for you to clear your conscience."

There was a long moment. "We gather at the church when a meeting is called..."

"I am sorry that it came to this," Ezio said quietly. His hidden blade sprung forward, burying itself into Bernardo's neck, and Ezio hauled him over into the well, letting the body fall. "_Requiescat in Pace._"

He easily leapt out of the well and rejoined the men he'd been working with.

Almost as soon as Ezio returned to Monteriggioni, a good report for Mario, his Uncle handed him a letter from Lorenzo. The patron of Florence wanted a progress report on his work. The young Florentine winced, reading it over several times, and wondered if he could just write a letter and send it off... But that would be a disrespect to the man who had been so kind to Ezio and his father and his family. Sighing, he saddled his horse not a day after his return and rode to Florence, wondering how he could possibly make failing to kill all the Pazzi after a year of searching sound _good_ by any stretch of the imagination. Even knowing that Mario and his mercenaries were working tirelessly, even knowing that riding the countryside would serve him little, he could not quite get around the fact that it was taking _forever_, and he feared that he would never get to the true source of the conspiracy: Jacopo de' Pazzi. Moreover, he wondered if he would ever get to the next name on his list, learn who else was connected to the slaughter of his family, breaking Petruccio's neck, strangling Federico, and Giovanni...

He shook his head, leaving his horse at a stable outside the city gate, brushing the stallion down and taking care of the saddle and tack. He entered the east gate and followed the main road of the San Marco district, passing by tailors and blacksmiths and letting his eyes wander the marvelous architecture of his former home. He could trace trails up to the roofs almost without thinking about it, marking barrels and carts and lampposts, seeing open windows and find cracks for handholds in the arches and semicircles and flowerbeds.

He paused, looking at the alley that would lead him to Rosa Colta and Paola. It had been a year since his last visit, but... Lorenzo came first.

... _How_ was he going to explain this?

He grit his teeth and kept to the main road, following its natural curves until he saw the impressive façade of the Palazzo Medici.

He also saw Poliziano, the humanist scholar, coming out the back alley of the _palazzo_ with a bloody arm and two city guards giving chase after him.

Ezio, barely taking the time to think, drew a throwing knife and let it fly, landing deep in the neck of one of the guards while he ran full tilt into the second guard, the man barreling to the ground and giving Ezio time to extend his hidden blade and plunge it deep into the man's shoulder before twisting and slashing it out.

"What happened here?" the twenty-year old asked, helping Poliziano to his feet. The man winced, clutching his arm, and Ezio quickly pulled out his medical pack, grabbing a bandage and dressing the long (but blessedly thin) gash on his associate's arm.

"The city guards," the scholar said, grunting as Ezio tightened the bandage, "Lorenzo thought he had eliminated all the traitors but some few managed to regroup. They snuck into the Palazzo and have assaulted it. I told the _Maestro_ to hide his family, I'm off to get help... ah, not so tight!"

"Go," Ezio said, "Alert the guards, gather the humanists, too, to make sure they do as they're told. I'll go in and see if I can't thin their ranks."

"Auditore, that's suicide! Even your father couldn't-"

"Go!" he said, shoving the man back onto the streets and ducking into the alley Poliziano had just escaped. He saw the back entrance he had used a year ago, helping the wounded Lorenzo into his palazzo for safekeeping before going out to deal with Francesco de' Pazzi. Would Jacopo be here, leading the assault? Ezio hoped so, and he stalked into the central courtyard, paying little mind to the bronze statue of David in its center, eyeing the arches and recesses and columns. Bodies were everywhere, some servants, some likely guests, some personal guards; pots were overturned, their plants and soil spilling out everywhere, as were bits of parchment and quills, books and trays, refuse of chaos as it descended on the _palazzo_.

He ducked into a corner, shoving open a door and going up a spiral servant staircase, winding his way up to the second floor and drawing his sword as he did so. He could hear boots above him, and knew that at this stage of the assault there would be few allies indeed that were still alive. He prayed that Lorenzo was one of them.

Ezio burst into a dining room on the second floor, several chairs upturned and the wine rack open and wounded. Three guards were there and Ezio didn't pause to announce his presence, he just stabbed one of them brutally in the back, causing a meaty and surprised gasp. The other two turned, startled, but Ezio was already kicking the body off his sword and running at the second man, feebly trying to lift his sword up but Ezio deflected it easily, extending his hidden blade and stabbing the man in his opening, deep between the ribs and through a lung. The third had time to recover from the shock, and Ezio was soon pressed into a tight swordfight, but he had spent three years conditioning his body and training his muscle memory, and so it was nearly effortless to circle the sword away, kick the guard in the shins and forcing him to his knees, and then shoving his sword down in a violent slash into the man's shoulder, severing muscle and sinew and blood spurting everywhere before ripping the blade out to cause even more damage.

Three bodies were at his feet in less than two minutes.

Immediate threat over, he looked around, mourning the ripped paintings that made the _palazzo_ as magnificent as its namesake. Lorenzo was not here, however, and so he left, making a quick search of the second floor. The library had another array of guards, but Ezio's speed and his hard-earned grace made it very nearly child's play, dashing in and around defense circles and making a bloody mess of the guards that were assaulting the _palazzo_. One man in full armor managed to swing hard and knock Ezio's sword away. The young Florentine remembered in a brief flash when his family had been hung, a similar brute knocking his sword out of his hand, and the unparalleled fear he had felt that made him run. He still felt that fear now, looking up to the towering man and his heavy axe, but Ezio had training, now, and purpose and maturity and conviction to save_ Il Magnifico_ and so took the armored man on with his bare fists.

The brute laughed at first, bracing for a heavy and lethal swing, but Ezio grabbed at the heavily armored man's grip, fighting for footing briefly before wrenching the axe away, the yank sending Ezio into a tight spin that he used to build momentum, swinging the axe into the armored man's side and splitting through the heavy armor like silk instead of metal. The brute gave a heavy, wet gurgle before falling to his knees, but Ezio was not done with him yet, yanking out the axe with a meaty tug and holding it over his head, swinging down and cleaving the man's helmet and skull both, nearly in two. Blood and brain matter spurted everywhere.

Ezio was breathing heavily now, looking at the havoc he had wrought and knowing that he had to slow down. His initial instinct to kill everyone in sight to save _Il Magnifico_ had faded, and his mind was starting to work again. He had made quite the commotion, and so his first priority was hiding.

He slipped through an open window, listening to the guards as they found the bodies, some gagging at the stench and the violence. He waited, holding his breath to slow his pounding heartbeat, and eventually the guards, now nervous and jittery, went back to searching the house.

"It's time to earn your florins," said one, a captain. "I want half of you to search the courtyard, the other half come with me to check the Chapel."

"Yes, Captain."

"What about Lorenzo?"

The captain snorted. "By now, Lorenzo is already dead."

Anger burned in Ezio, and he swore that the bastard would die slowly if that were the case.

Soon the library was empty again, however, and Ezio crept back into it, knowing that he couldn't stay out in the courtyard for long - even if he was several dozen feet above their heads.

Frowning, Ezio looked up to the upper balconies, a possible shortcut to the third floor, where the Chapel was and likely where the Medici would be hiding. The sounds of killing and looting had faded, and instead Ezio could faintly hear the rush of footsteps down stairs and flooding the courtyard. He dared to look out the window to see at least a dozen of the corrupt city guards preparing for a fight. Poliziano must have found help. That meant it was a race, those left would be desperate to finish their mission and Lorenzo would be dead - if he wasn't already - and Ezio _refused_ to let that happen.

Climbing up a bookshelf and hopping from one to another, the young Florentine pulling himself up to one of the viewing balconies and made his way deeper into the third floor. He checked on one of Lorenzo's quarters, the canopy bed ripped and even more signs of chaos. The hallways were filled less with bodies and more with ripped or overturned rugs, more paintings were wounded, the occasional marble tile smashed.

Further down the hall was the Medici Chapel, where Giovanni's portrait was, lost in the procession of the Magi - or rather, the Medici - and a half dozen guards including the impertinent captain were abusing the door to gain entry.

Ezio ran at them full tilt, the sounds of fighting below muting his boot-falls, and he leapt first onto the two men in full armor, both hidden blades extended and slipping between helmet and armor, stabbing deep into their necks with such momentum and force that they plunged to the ground, breaking Ezio's leap and startling the four left. The young Florentine took a throwing knife to two more, and in less than a minute four men were down, a fifth on the way as Ezio pulling himself free from the two brutes and advanced, attacking furiously before feinting, his hidden blade sinking deep into the man's abdomen, making him double over before Ezio followed up with a second step, this time in the back of the neck, adding to the pile of corpses at his feet.

That left only the impertinent captain.

To the man's credit, he had drawn his mace and advanced on a secure line, pushing Ezio back as the young Florentine tried to take a breath from his rapid and furious assault. Ezio soon found himself halfway down the hall before he had recovered, and he looked at the captain and openly snarled. The mace deflected all of Ezio's moves with his hidden blade, and so he drew his sword with its longer reach and took up a classic stance, luring the captain into a false sense of security before ducking under a strike, swinging low enough with the back of his sword to upend the man's feet. Circling around, Ezio changed his grip on his sword and stabbed it deep into the man's unprotected abdomen.

"This is the price you pay for attacking a Medici," he growled, letting the words sink into the gasping man's muddled brain before savagely twisting the blade, doing even more damage to the man's innards, and then pulling it out, blood spurting from the fatal wound. Ezio flicked the worst of the blood off but held off on cleaning it, not knowing if there were more still lingering up here.

He studied the door to the Chapel, letting his eagle examine it before seeing a loose panel in the frame. Pressing it, Ezio could faintly hear a click and the distinct sound of a lock, and he slowly pushed open the door, feeling as if the frescos were staring at him as he stalked inside.

"Get back!" a voice shouted.

Ezio instinctively drew his hidden blades, but almost immediately retracted them as he recognized the voice.

"Lower your sword!" he said, straightening and spreading his hands. "It's me, _Il Magnifico._"

"Ezio!"

Lorenzo came out of the shadows, his wife Clarice close behind him. Clutched in her arms were the two youngest Medici children, her skirts divided up between the others, including adopted Giulio and Piero, the oldest son. Clarice's face was streaked in tears, as were the daughters. "Again, you save me," Lorenzo said, lowering his sword and stepping further forward. "Are they all gone?"

"If not they soon will be," Ezio said, drawing his bloody sword. Piero flinched and ducked away, Giulio blinked, staring, open-mouthed. "Poliziano gathered the loyal guards, they were fighting in the courtyard last I saw."

"Then the day is won," the patron said, sagging with relief. "First they enter my church, and now my home..."

"Lorenzo..." Clarice said, equally relieved, and soon the Medici family were all clutching each other tightly, engulfed in silks and embroidery and finery but still a family nonetheless. Ezio gave them their moment, guarding the door and keeping his eagle eyes sharp for any signs of trouble.

Within an hour Poliziano, flanked by two guards, strode up the hall.

"_Maestro_! Auditore! Are you still alive?"

"Yes, we are in the Chapel!"

"By the Thrice Blessed, thank God!" the scholar said.

It took the rest of the day for the guards, Ezio, and some of the humanists to clean up the bodies, Lorenzo looking over each one he knew and praying over them personally, ordering the traitors to be burned while a priest from the Duomo was summoned to handle those who suffered the slaughter. Clarice ushered her children out of sight with the help of some surviving servants. The next day filled the _palazzo_ with architects and carpenters to fix the damage, and Ezio was ushered into a meeting with Florence's patron.

Nervous, Ezio bowed and said what was on his mind. "I'm sorry, Lorenzo," he said. "This is my fault: I have not yet found Jacopo de' Pazzi. He probably was responsible for the attack on your _palazzo_."

Lorenzo took in the news slowly, gazing at his ruined courtyard. "The others?"

"Francesco Salviati, Stefano da Bagnone, and Bernardo Baroncelli are dead."

"Baroncelli," Lorenzo said softly. "My friend Mehmet had found him. Then he escaped when he came to Italy. You found him?"

"_Si_, just now, before I came here."

"... Then you are moving faster than I expected," Lorenzo said, smiling softly.

The young Florentine looked up, startled. "... 'Faster'?" he said, confused.

"Ah, Ezio, to be young again," Lorenzo said, a wistful quality in his voice. The thirty-year-old sighed. "Work of the greatest quality takes time, Ezio," he said. "Roma was not built in a day. _Il Duomo_ was not done in a year, neither was this _palazzo_, or the Palazzo della Signoria, or even your own villa. Finding a well-funded man who wishes to disappear can take even longer. You yourself should know how easy it is to disappear, I spent weeks trying to find you when I heard what had happened to Giovanni, but you were lost to the wind before I had even returned. That you have found three of the five in only a year is impressive."

The reassurance helped Ezio as he stayed in Florence for another week or two; and it gave him the confidence to ride out to San Gimignano and get right to work. He explored the Roman amphitheatre Stefano had hinted at southwest of the city, looking over every nook and cranny of the ancient Roman structure. The marble had long been stripped for building materials, leaving only the extremely hard and durable stone. The theater was overgrown, the steps lost or half-covered with earth, several columns broken, seats worn away to a gentle slope. He saw no signs of a meeting place, no buried fire pit or fresh tracks other than his own.

In light of that, he began to stalk the Santa Maria Assunta, the church mentioned by Bernardo, attending services weekly and exploring the church at night, as well as the square in front of it, listening to heralds as they talked about tax levies on stone masons and reduced work capacity of the trade. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, and not even his nighttime explorations yielded him anything. He ascended many of the towers in the city, straining his eyes as he tried to determine where he was supposed to go, where his target was, but even that was fruitless. Mario sent some of his mercenaries to watch both locations before Ezio finally came home, frustrated and fed up. Summer came and left with no word, and dipped quickly into a sudden autumn.

Patience be _damned_, he wanted to kill somebody.

Even Claudia finding a tailor could not make him feel better, nor could the steady work on the mines or the completion of the construction on the smithy and the bank. Vines were still being torn down from the walls of Monteriggioni, overgrown and taking bits of the façade with it. Mario, when he wasn't gallivanting all across Italy, suggested Ezio help with the harvest, and though he learned much about grapes and wines - and even more about women - Ezio could not stop pacing about, desperate for word.

It wasn't just that he was letting Lorenzo de' Medici down, the patron of Florence, close friend to his father, and his own benefactor. It was that he was letting his family down. He would wake up in the mornings with a start, reliving the gallows and the three undeserving bodies swinging uselessly, of burying his family in the rain with Cristina. How could they be avenged while he did nothing? How could Claudia and Maria ever be safe outside of Monteriggioni if those conspirators, those Templars, weren't dead? He spent many nights in the arms of women, trying to chase away the nightmares and feeling close to his brother as he flirted his way into their beds.

As harvest ended, the rains came, the air going from cool to chilly, and Ezio began pacing the villa, driving Claudia to frustrated distraction until she sat him down to go over the accounts. Even _that_ could not hold his attention, and he was soon racing every inch of the city, hopping and leaping over chimneys and rooftops, climbing arches in front of the nonplussed citizens, leaping from higher and higher heights and landing in tight rolls, racing his horse around the city walls, anything to work off the energy that was building up inside him.

It got even worse at the end of the year. Mario had come home by then, and all four of them clustered around the drawing room; Maria praying over her feathers, Claudia poking at quill and parchment with a blank stare, Mario trying to read but failing, and Ezio pacing about the room, unable to be still for even a moment. Christmas was a solemn affair, everyone locked up in their own rooms and their own thoughts and their own miseries. Claudia's eyes were red rimmed for several mornings, and Ezio became harder and harder to find, let alone catch, as he pushed himself to run faster and faster; whether it was to or from something, even he did not know.

And then, at last,

"Mentor! We've found Antonio Maffei!"

Ezio was saddled and packed in record time, all he needed to hear was San Gimignano, and he rode overnight to the city of towers, risking his horse injury in the dark wet roads but smiling for the first time in eight months. At last, _at last_ a lead, and with Maffei out of the way all that was left was Jacopo, and no more underlings to help hide him.

It was dawn when he entered the city, walking quickly up the many steps until he hit the main square, Santa Maria Assunta sprawled up a set of steps, flanked by the Palazzo Comunale, San Gimignano's equivalent to Florence's Palazzo della Signoria, the seat of the city's government. Towering over it was the Torre Grossa, built by the city to overpower all the other towers in San Gimignano that were built by wealthy families in the 1300s. Ezio was told it was the only tower with a belfry, and he looked about the square, hoping to spy his contact.

Estachio was leaning by the church, seemingly idle, but Ezio knew better and marched right up to the man.

"_Salute_ Ezio!" the mercenary said. "I thought you'd be the one to come."

"Who else would?" he asked, impatient.

"... Never mind. Antonio Maffei has sought refuge atop the city's tallest structure - spouting scripture."

Ezio paused, blinking. Pulling his hood down, he cupped his ears and strained to listen, spinning around and tilting his head. "I hear nothing," he said.

"Not much can be," Estachio said, smirking slightly, "That high up the only things that will listen are the birds as they shit on you. The man has clearly lost his mind. Making matters worse, he's posted archers all around him on the other towers. You'd do well to clear them out before approaching."

"_Grazie_ for the information," Ezio said, nodding his head and pulling his hood back up. He walked back out into the square, merging with a cluster of people talking by a hay cart and looking up at the towers. He could just make out the archers, and he knew that climbing the face of the tallest structure, Torre Grossa, would be suicide. He would have to deal with the archers one by one, but that meant climbing - he paused, counting - five or six different towers. That would take _all day_, and worse, it would tip off Maffei, who would see it all from his high perch. That meant he would have to climb the tower from inside - still a risk, given that it was no doubt filled with guards and mercenaries of the Templar's own, but at least inside the damage could be contained, and word reaching Maffei could be controlled to a point.

... It would _still_ take _all day_, but Ezio decided that after eight months he could afford to wait a few hours more.

He slowly left the crowd he had joined, and began circling around the Torre Grossa, wondering if he could spy an open window or if he would have to break one. He looked inside himself and asked his eagle for help, hoping to find a hint of gold that served as his intuition. His neck soon ached from constantly looking up, and in the early morning light it was difficult to see anything - eagle sight or no - in the dark shadows of the towers and the narrow alleys. He was slipping through such an alley between the tower and the Comunale, splashing through puddles as the morning began to grey out, when the hint of gold he had waited for drew his eye not up, but down. Startled, he looked to see a skull encased in a red triangle, the symbol of a hidden passage and - if the last two were any indication - the sign of an Assassin tomb.

An _Assassin tomb_ somewhere in _Torre Grossa_.

Ezio needed no other sign, he knew when God had smiled on him, and so he grabbed the skull's eyes, twisting the stone knob until the red triangle morphed into the Assassin symbol, and pushed the secret door in, lowering himself into an underground cistern of some sort. His landing startled several rats, making the animals scurry away, but Ezio saw a gate on the other side of the cistern, and hopped his way over to it, taking a moment to study it before pulling a lever and opening it.

Up a dank flight of steps was a winery, obviously the basement of the tower to keep the barrels, casks, and supplies cool and dry. Shelves filled the space, some filled with barrels, some not. Buckets used to crush grapes were piled messily in corners, bottles lay on tables waiting to be filled and stopped with wax or cork, everything smelled of dry wood and wine.

The wine cellar held three guards that Ezio could see at a glance, and he cursed that he had not prepared himself better in his mad rush to leave Monteriggioni. He only had five throwing knives and he did not want to waste them here if he needed them later. Frowning, Ezio steeled himself and stalked up to the first guard, almost on top of him, and stabbed him in the back, angling the blade up and twisting slightly, leaving an almost bloodless and silent death. He caught the body before it clattered to the floor, dragging it to a poorly lit corner, and began stalking down the shelves of wine.

One guard paused in a corner by a giant barrel, eyeing it greedily and handling his wineskin, perhaps wondering if he should top off. Ezio dashed in and leapt, stabbing him hard in the back, between the shoulder blade and the ribs for a precision strike. This guard cried out, however, and the third heard it, immediately coming to investigate. Ezio wished he had not worn white, he stood out in such dim light and was quickly forced to draw his sword, the guard growling. The fight was quick, however, Ezio the superior fighter, and he soon deflected a strike, countering by swinging up at the man's elbow, shattering the joint and following up with a vicious slash to the man's midsection.

He waited ten breaths, listening intensely for sounds, before making his way further into the wine cellar, eyes open for stairs.

The ladder leading down to the cellar had been removed, and Ezio was forced to backtrack and climb his way up a few barrels up to the rafters of the ceiling, shimmying along until he could hoist himself up to the upper level of the cellar. Both doors were locked, but as he was examining the upper balcony he saw a guard pacing it. Ducking underneath the balcony, he waited and listened, studying the man's footfalls and marking out the route above him. When he was clear, he jumped up to an overhanging beam meant for a lantern and hoisted himself up, now hidden by the wooden safety rail. He waited for over twenty heartbeats before the guard circled around again, and with a silent "Thank you," to Altair and his new assassination techniques, Ezio reached up and stabbed the guard, yanking him over the rail and letting him fall like a sack of wheat to the floor.

The door up here _was_ open, and Ezio was soon at the ground floor, the stone walls becoming whitewashed and the floors covered in marble. Beyond what appeared to be a main archway was a library, shelves filled with books instead of casks, and Ezio could look up for several meters, meaning he was in the tower proper. Excellent.

He could see one guard amongst the shelves, and Ezio stepped as quietly as he could, sneaking up on the man and stabbing him in the back - up and with a twist - and helping the body fall silently to the floor. As in the wine cellar, all the doors were locked. Obviously Maffei wanted a little access as possible to the upper levels, but he did not take into account a man who had been climbing for three years. Ezio stepped beyond the shelves to a series of study tables, looking up and examining the tower. There were three levels above him, each with a guard pacing the balcony, so he would have to be careful. Knowing that Maffei was at the top, he knew any doors would be locked except those on the highest balcony, and as he scanned the tower he realized there was an assassin symbol, seen only with his eagle, that also pointed up as well. Two birds with one stone, it seemed.

Much like in the cellar, Ezio hoisted himself up to the shelves. Even jumping from them, he almost missed the base of the balcony, but he held on and waited. He assassinated the first guard that passed, and the second took notice of the death. The twenty-year-old almost didn't have time to get his feet on the ground before he was locked in a swordfight, both of his hidden blades extended. It wasn't long before he deflected a strike and sank both blades into the guard's abdomen, twisting as he went before pulling them out. He turned and let the man fall, looking out over the library from above and determining his next route.

The opposite wall had windows with handy crossbars, but more importantly there was a decorative ledge Ezio could stand on, and peering up he saw crossbars that likely held decoration flags. Nodding, he took a deep breath and leapt over the balcony onto one of the library's chandeliers, the heavy sound of his boots hitting the metal and the dull swing of the iron chains making him hold his breath. No shouts of surprise or cries of attack.

Sighing in relief, he repeated the process to a second chandelier, and then climbed up the windows to the decorative platform. He pulled out his throwing knives, now, knowing there was no way to swing across the bars and not be seen by the guards on the third level. It was the furthest he had ever thrown a knife, but his aim held true, and he landed on the balcony unmolested. The assassin symbol his eagle eye had spotted was by an undoored arch, and beyond it was the belfry. Maffei was up there, as was an honored assassin.

... as were several guards.

Growling to himself, impatient, Ezio forced himself to calm down, pulling out a second throwing knife and hitting the guard closest to him, another silent death that the ones above would miss.

He ascended the steps around the tower slowly, hopping onto a crossbeam as needed or ducking under a safety rail when he ran out of throwing knives. It wasn't long before he had run out of stairs and ladders and was climbing the massive support beams of the tower, thick enough for him to be sure of his footing and stand comfortably, occasionally using an iron ring for support if he didn't trust a jump. He was incredibly high up now, a fall from this height could kill him, as it could have in the Duomo in Florence. He understood why these tombs were so well hidden, it took the skill of an assassin to make these climbs; the more traditional routes would lead away from these hidden nooks.

Once at the end of the massive support beams, Ezio thought he could travel no higher, but he saw a set of iron rings; serving no purpose on the wall unless one looked up, seeing that they lead to a small collection of cracks. Grinning, Ezio took a breath and leapt to the rings, climbing up and then around the corner of the tower, gripping the cracks carefully and slowly making his way to one last support beam. His arms were shaking from all the climbing, and he forced himself to rest, shaking out the weary muscles.

In the quiet, he could faintly hear a voice from above.

"Citizens of San Gimignano, heed well my words!"

Maffei.

"You must _repent_! Repent and seek forgiveness! For your wicked ways have incurred the wrath of a _demon_! Summoned by your sins, he now walks our world, cloaked in shadow and darkness! And everywhere he treads, _death follows_!"

Maffei was not the first to call Ezio a demon; the Benedictine priests sheltering Stefano da Bagnone had, and Bernardo Baroncelli had been paranoid with fear over Ezio's hooded approach. Did he really cut such a fearful figure? Ezio did not consider himself gifted with demonic abilities.

"Why you ask?" Maffei shouted. "Because you have strayed and sacrificed your liberty to that wretch _Lorenzo de' Medici_. You are puppets, enslaved by _purse strings_! Won over by poisonous words! You have lost your virtue. You have lost your dignity. You have lost your faith! And this draws the demon in to feed. And feed they will. All whilst you wander lost in ignorance. "

Big words indeed, making the benefactor of Florence to be the source of all sin and Ezio the judge of wicked deeds. Although, Ezio thought, he _did_ cast judgment on the wicked, just not _quite_ the way Maffei wished.

"Know that good men have died protecting you from evils! Men who sought to save these lands, to purify them! Join me in prayer, my children, so that together we might stand against this darkness!"

Ezio sighed, leaning against the beam, waiting for his muscles to soothe. Estachio was right; the man had gone _mad_ if he thought the Templars good men. Good men would not have executed his father and brothers so brutally and so callously.

"Give ear, O heaven, and I will speak. And hear, O earth, the words of my mouth. Let my teachings drop as the rain. My speech distill as the dew. As raindrops on the tender herb, and as showers on the grass. For I proclaim the name of the Lord: Ascribe greatness to our God. He is the rock, His work is perfect; for all His ways are justice, a God of truth and without injustice; righteous and upright is He."

And now he was spouting rhetoric. Ezio shook his head; feeling rested and hoisted himself up the iron rings on the beam he had been leaning against, pulling himself up to the level just below the bell tower. The room was ordained with curios and antiquities, an ancient sarcophagus faced like a hooded man, an assassin, and Ezio bowed to it. "I will return in a few minutes," he said softly, before climbing up past the bell of the belfry and exiting to the top of the tower.

Maffei was pacing about, waving his arms around in wild gesticulations. The morning sun was now nearly noon; Ezio had been at this for over five hours.

"They have corrupted themselves;" Maffei was saying, "they are not His children, because of their blemish: A perverse and crooked generation. Do you thus deal with the _Lord_, O foolish and unwise people? Is He not your Father, who bought you? Has He not made you and established you?" He spun around, revealing wild eyes shining in the drizzle, and he gasped upon seeing the white hood appear, seemingly from nowhere. Maffei drew a dagger and took a weak defensive stance.

"By the light of the _Lord_, be cleansed!" he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth into the cool air.

"No _grazie_," Ezio said, extending his two hidden blades and taking his own stance. The fight would be easy, but the height made it dangerous, and Ezio was weary of killing Maffei before he had extracted what he truly wanted: Jacopo de' Pazzi.

"I will put you on your knees, sinner!" Maffei shouted, making a clumsy swing.

"You would enjoy that, wouldn't you?" Ezio countered it, keeping momentum to a minimum to prevent approaching the edge of the tower.

"Beg forgiveness!"

"I have no need to," Ezio growled, blocking another strike with a leather vambrace. "I am not the one who tried to kill a benefactor of a city, nor am I the man who conspired to kill two innocent men and a _child_." He could see the gallows now, anger filling his mind.

"Give me strength, O Lord - that I might cast out this demon!" Maffei shouted, his voice cracking with volume. "It is not too late for you to turn away from evil! Repent, sinner!" he said, casting a judgmental finger at him. "You may yet be forgiven! I do God's work! And it is good! "

"You stopped working for God a _long_ time ago," Ezio said, seeing his chance and grabbing the dagger. He held firm, Maffei focused on trying to wrest it free, and Ezio stabbed him deep in the chest, between ribs and into a lung.

Maffei gave a gurgled gasp of surprise, looking down in shock as his legs gave out from underneath him.

"Away with you, demon!" he muttered, trying to pull away.

"Have some respect for death, my friend," Ezio said slowly, holding the struggling man still. "Don't waste your last breath in futility, tell me where to find Jacopo de' Pazzi."

"I'll show you respect! -" he gurgled.

"No," Ezio cut him off. "I will: May your body and mind at last be still," he whispered, watching the man slowly die. "_Requiescat in Pace_."

He pulled back, frustrated. All the conspirators were dead, and none with telling him how to find the last Pazzi. The gallows were filling his mind, overtaking any thought as he remembered Petruccio's broken neck and his unheard whimper, pictured Federico's blank face turning to his little brother in concern and later slowly turning blue, he experienced Giovanni struggling for air, swinging back and forth before being brained by the executioner, fluid and blood flying everywhere. He cursed, bitterly, his words lost on the strong winds surrounding him. _Now_ how was he going to find the bastard? Avenge his family? He was back to square one unless Maffei had any-

He spun around, looting the corpse's pockets, pulling out several letters, all from Jacopo de' Pazzi. Ezio grinned as his emotions completely overturned, filing through them in the low drizzle, finding the most recent letter and reading it.

_ "Brother,_

_ "As you've no doubt heard by now, he hunts us - in search of retribution. We should never have consented, never have conspired. But what's done is done. And so I have called a meeting with Maestro three nights from now to ask for sanctuary - either in Venezia or with him in Roma._

_ "We will assemble at the church in San Gimignano and travel to the meeting location at the appointed hour. I urge you to attend. Remaining here would be suicide. The assassin is relentless. We cannot hope to stop him on our own. But perhaps, aided by Maestro, we might buy ourselves the time to form a proper response._

_ "Guard yourself well. Firenze may be lost to us, but that does not have to mean our end._

_ "May the Father of Understanding Guide you._

_ "Your brother, Jacopo"_

Ezio checked the date of the letter, day before yesterday. That meant Jacopo was in the city, and tonight he would be at the church. Excellent. _Excellent_. Feeling better than he had in months, he lowered himself down into the belfry, past the massive bell and into the hidden room where the sarcophagus lay. Now that he had time, he stood over the tomb, offering a prayer, and pushed the lid aside, taking a moment to look at the mummy and the telltale red sash covering it, paying his respects before pulling out the seal, the circular stone this time showing a spear: the Seal of Wei Yu was his. He looked about the antiquities, debating. It was sacrilegious as it was to rob a grave of the seals, and desperate though he had been he had not liked robbing the tombs he had found in Florence. With so many shops open in Monteriggioni, perhaps...

"I will leave your treasures for the next generation," Ezio said, bowing to the assassin and recovering the sarcophagus. Seal and letter in hand, he began the arduous climb down the belfry to write a letter to Mario. With luck, he would still be in Monteriggioni and know what Ezio had planned.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And Ezio slowly starts to wind up, and we see what happens when our not-yet-assassin feels a little stressed. This, ultimately, is the downfall of people who wish to take revenge: impatience and excluding all else. Ezio is so frantic over killing the conspirators because of their connection to his father's death - coupled with his admiration of Lorenzo and not wanting to let him down, he's slowly becoming more and more reckless. But Ezio hasn't realized yet how self-destructive he's becoming. That's next chapter, and oh, the trouble he conjures for himself. (knowing laughter)

We have also, at last, explained why he's such a proclivity to women: a warm bed chases away his nightmares for a time, and the act of flirting makes him feel close to Federico. This will pop up again and again (it IS Ezio, we're talking about), but we feel this was the only way he could be as promiscuous as he is and still have respect for women. He also has a few conditions that must be met when he's picking his women, but more on that later.

Note how close he and Claudia are, especially at the beginning of the chapter. They both help him through surgery, and that level of closeness is important for what we're planning later on.

And, as a random aside, astute readers will pick out that Ezio insulted Claudia by infering that she's skinny. I now have to put on my art history cap from college and point out that, back in ye olden times, being heavy set was a sign of wealth, and therefore a sign of power, and therefore a sign of desirability. All those paintings of women back then, you never see rib cages or toned legs, its because the artist has made them attractive by making them "pleasingly plump." And so long as I have my art history cap on, if anyone's ever played the "Bonus" stage of the Medici Palace, that bronze David in the center courtyard is famous. That was done by sculptor Donatello (which may or may not be familiar to you) and was cast in the early Renaissance. Look it up on wikipedia or google, you'll find a young, almost prepubescent male effeminate-boy in nothing but boots and a feathered cap standing on Goliaths head. Lots of people find it almost pediphilic, but it's a representation of the strength of youth and is one of the three most famous David's in the Renaissance. While that was done early Renaissance, Michelangelo's David was done in high Renaissance, and a third done almost at the beginning of the Baroque (sp?) period. The contrast of the three is really interesting, and it was a fund day in class to discuss it. Or maybe I'm just an art nerd...?

Anyway, next chapter: Ezio is an idiot, Leonardo and he travel. And oh yeah, there's this thing called Leap of Faith...


	12. Death of a Pazzi

**Part Twelve: Death of a Pazzi**

That night he was on the roofs of San Gimignano, looking out over the piazza in front of the Assunta and the Comunale, watching the parishioners leave in spits and spurts after the New Year's midnight mass. He paced about, anxious, his eagle-like vision scanning the crowds impatiently. After a year and a half, he would at last sink his blade into Jacopo de' Pazzi, killing the last of the conspirators. The thought of it, the bloodlust, made him unable to be still. All he could think about was the kill, the last enemy of the Medici, the last enemy of Florence, the last enemy between him and Rodrigo Borgia, the Spaniard. He pulled out the letter and reread it in the moonlight, taking in the words, the meeting.

If he could stay his blade long enough to follow Jacopo, he'd lead Ezio to his Templar brothers. He'd have more names for his list...

At last, he recognized the favored blue-grey of Jacopo de' Pazzi in the fitful moonlight, the old man in the middle of a massive crowd, walking with purpose but no hurry across the square, around the well and down one of the main streets. Ezio spied a hay cart below him, and with a running leap recklessly dived three stories down into its sweet scent before pulling himself out. He weaved about the crowds like an expert, changing his posture from scholar to mercenary to husband to banker, sticking to thick crowds to keep himself invisible.

Jacopo stopped by a well, standing perfectly still.

What was going on here? Were they late? Ezio didn't know how many people Jacopo was planning to meet. Did he spot Ezio? No, he hadn't seen him, this much Ezio knew. He was too good to be caught by a banker, however cautious, who knew nothing of how to be invisible in a crowd. Energy kept Ezio moving, flitting from bench to crowd to crate, keeping himself invisible but unable to be still as the wait dragged on. He wanted this _over_ with.

He was an assassin, he had been training for three years, he knew how to tail a target and not be seen. He just didn't want to _wait_ for it. Why was he _waiting_?

Ten minutes later Ezio got his answer when a city guard appeared, talking briefly with Jacopo before the two set off. Relieved and perturbed at the same time, Ezio spied a few crates stacked against a wall, and he ran to them, climbing up them to a lantern post to a crossbeam to a roof, the height making him feel better against Jacopo's guard's eyes. He carefully balanced across a rope spanning two buildings, eyes still on Jacopo as he turned down a small alley, pausing for a moment to watch a small troupe of prostitutes as they danced for attention before moving on. The delay chaffed, but Ezio easily kept pace, weary of loose tiles and mindful of his steps as he heard thunder in the distance. The last thing he needed was yet more winter rain.

"What are you and the others planning, Jacopo?" Ezio muttered to himself, watching the man and his guard walk past a church and down a series of steps to a lower tier of the city. "Your letter mentioned Venezia... are there Templars there as well?"

How many were on Ezio's list of men to kill? How much blood would he be forced to wade through before he and his family would be safe? Would just this be enough, to know that Tuscany was safe for his family, or would he have to go through all of it? The impatient Florentine was tired of it, wanting to just get it all over with.

He saw the city gate approaching, and Ezio suspected where Jacopo was going now. He leapt across the narrow alley, slipping on the wet tiles and forcing himself to wait until his startled heart fell back under control. He waited until Jacopo was through the gates before hopping over to the weak wall that he had assailed, oh, over a year ago when Mario tested him on the assault of Vieri de' Pazzi's occupation of the city.

Some ten minutes later he could spy Jacopo in a shaft of moonlight, his eagle eyes giving the distinctive hint of gold. To the west were the ruins, the old Roman amphitheatre. Just as he thought. Ezio darted down the walls of the city, reaching a tower and circling his way around it via some old crossbeams that barely held his weight and landing with a tight roll back on the city wall. He dashed down it, one eye still on his target, before he spied a cart full of raked up leaves. Not as soft as hay, but it would do. Anxious to get to the ground, Ezio took a breath and dove down, looking forward to killing the bastard and getting more names on his list.

The jump was a touch too high, and the leaves didn't brace his fall as hay would. Ezio's tried to compensate, and instead landed wrong, feeling his leg twist terribly. He nearly shouted out a curse but swallowed it in his throat, wincing and breathing hard as he waited for the pain to subside to an angry throb.

Damn it all to hell! Now his agility was compromised. He would have to be extra careful.

His mind a flood of curses, he waited, watching Jacopo and his guard pass, entering the amphitheatre.

Hauling himself out of the leaf cart, his leg protested fiercely when he put his weight on it, and even in his pain he could see the telltale hints of red he had come to associate with guards of hostile intent.

This was going to be... difficult.

But he was an assassin. Like his father. He would prevail. He _would_. Then he and his family would be _free_.

Taking a deep breath, he limped further south, keeping low to the ground as he watched the guards' movements. He couldn't just hop over their heads; his leg wouldn't take it, but he knew of an old arch that had not weathered away, and, waiting until one pair of guards passed, limped over it.

Down the slope on the stage were many men, some guards, some not, and Ezio realized this was more than just an underling. He saw the black hood, and he realized he had seen the figure before, at the meeting with Vieri de' Pazzi and the plan of their conspiracy. Rodrigo Borgia, the man who had ordered his family's deaths... Adrenaline filled Ezio as he gingerly made his way to the ground, angling up to a column to hide behind.

Just how many men were responsible for his father's death...?

Ezio settled in and strained his ears, making out the conversation because of the theatre acoustics.

"I am sorry, _Maestro_," Jacopo was saying to the man in the black hood. Another man, dressed in finery, paced about. "I did all I could, but the Assassin proved too strong."

"Clearly," the man in the black hood said, Spanish vowels obvious. Borgia's voice triggered the scene at the gallows again, his most painful memory reliving itself over and over in his mind. Blood started to pound in Ezio's ears, and it was a struggle to keep listening. "Else the others would be here with you. To say nothing of that fact that Firenze remains in Medici hands..."

"It's Francesco's fault!" Jacopo sniveled. "His impatience made him reckless! I tried to be the voice of reason..."

"More like the voice of cowardice," said the man who was pacing, the distinct Venetian accent lilting his voice.

"You're one to talk, _Signor_ Barbarigo," Jacopo said, "Had you sent us quality weapons instead of this garbage you Venetians call arm-"

"Enough!" Borgia growled, stepping forward menacingly. "We put our faith in your family and you repay us with inaction and incompetence? Then when asked to account for your failures, you make excuses and insult us? How do you expect me to respond?" Borgia stepped forward again, his round face briefly visible in torchlight. Ezio ducked behind the column, confident he was invisible but not wanting to be seen just in case.

"... I don't know..." Jacopo said weakly, worn down and defeated.

"It's alright," Borgia said in a softer, welcoming voice, a hand reaching up to pat Jacopo's shoulder. "I do..." His other hand held a knife, and with a swift thrust in plunged into Jacopo's unprotected chest, causing a startled squawk from the banker.

"No... please... don't..." he pleaded. He turned away from Borgia, stepping weakly away, blood darkening his robes, and he staggered to the Venetian, Barbarigo.

"Please don't what?" Barbarigo asked, cruelly delighted at the display. He pushed Jacopo to the ground, blood spurting from the wound.

Pazzi struggled to his knees, trying to back away. "I can... fix this," he rasped, the acoustics of the amphitheatre making his voice ghostly as it carried to Ezio's ears. "Only... spare me..." The young Florentine poured more of his focus onto the stage.

Borgia looked down on him, blood dripping from his dagger.

"No." The cardinal drew his sword and with a skilled thrust stabbed Jacopo de' Pazzi in the neck. The old man gave a bloody cry of surprise before his body slacked to the ground, blood pooling in the intermittent moonlight. "What a mess..." he muttered.

Ezio had seen enough. He knew to go to Venice now, to track down Barbarigo. There was nothing he could do for Jacopo, and with his wounded leg he was in no shape for a confrontation. He gathered up his strength to go, but he saw out of the corner of his eye the Spaniard step forward, to the center stage.

"So sorry to have claimed your prize, Assassin!"

Mer_da shitshitshitshitshit Jesus fucking Christ I'm fucking screwed n_ow shit!

Two guards clamped down on Ezio's shoulders, startling him and began dragging him down the slope, heedless of his injured leg. The two had taken the young Florentine completely by surprise, so focused he had been on the meeting he had paid no heed to his surroundings, and arrogant beginner mistake.

Ezio tried to hide his limp, not wanting to show weakness in front of the Borgia, his greatest enemy, but knew he was doing a poor job of it. Damn it, damn it. _Merda_, he should have waited for Mario to arrive with back up. He had been arrogant and stupid to think that he was good enough for this only after a paltry three years training. He still had so much to learn and now he was gong to die just like his father because he didn't pay attention and he would never hear his mother's voice again or argue with Claudia he was dead, dead, _dead_!

"Did you honestly think I wouldn't expect you to follow?" the Spaniard said, smug and domineering. "That I didn't _plan_ for it? We've been at this a lot longer than you."

A fool.

Ezio was a fool and he only had himself to blame.

Fear as great as that rainy day at the gallows filled his chest, and as he stared at the Spaniard all he saw in response was a cold, unfeeling gaze.

"Kill him."

Rodrigo and Barbarigo departed, leaving Ezio to the guards: Two holding him, two fully armored brutes, and four others. His best option would be to run as fast as his injured leg would carry him. Even that had poor odds, but Ezio had little choice. He pulled against his two guards, getting ready.

"I know you're only doing as you're told," he said, his voice confident even if he was not, "so if you release me, I will spare your lives."

"Ha!" the guard to his left said, amused by the last-ditch attempt at bravado. "Listen to this-Agh!" Ezio extended his hidden blade, deep into the guard's neck and killing him instantly, yanking the arm free and stabbing his other shocked captor, in the abdomen just under the ribs.

Then he turned and bolted.

His speed was pathetic, utterly _pathetic_, he barely made it up the slope when two of the guards were upon him, and he ducked under one swing and then a second, slicing his hidden blades through two different legs and trying to dart forward. But the heavily armored brutes had caught up, and one swung an enormous axe at Ezio. His body reacted instinctively, ducking to the side, but as soon as weight was put on his leg it all fell apart, and the axe gave a glancing blow to his bracer, the leather doing nothing to stop the heavy instrument from breaking his arm, and he fell to the ground. A metal encased boot struck his head, and consciousness left him.

* * *

"...I've found him! ..."

"...Get him out of here! Estachio, Ulderico, cover our rear! ..."

"...Bartolomeo, not that way! ..."

"...I'll avenge your nephew! Volpe, with me..."

"...Did anybody see where the Venetian went? ..."

"...This way, this way, to the horses!"

And then,

"Hang on, _nipote_, you'll be home soon enough..."

* * *

Ezio groaned, his head pounding. He tried to lift an arm up to rub the hateful body part, only to discover that it was not the only part of his body that hated him. Pain exploded up his arm, causing him to gasp and jolt, which then made his _leg_ shout its protests, and Ezio eventually decided that being awake was decidedly _not worth it_.

Some time later, he tried again to wake up, bits of memories flitting through his head; mostly of his father and brothers swinging from the gallows and the overpowering feeling that he was a God-be-damned _idiot_ but not quite remembering _why_. His eyes fluttered open and blinked several times, he thought he saw Claudia looking over him, and Mario as well, but nothing completely made sense and he drifted off again.

The third time he woke up it was the dead of night, rain pounding and causing a low consistent hiss that reminded him of his headache. He couldn't roll over and shove a pillow over his head, his arm and leg were shouting at him to stay still, and he groaned, the rain hissing in his ears for time indeterminate. His father was looking over him at the foot of his bed, and that didn't make him feel better, because there was a supreme look of disappointment.

At last, however, it was morning, and when Ezio risked opening his eyes he found his uncle asleep in a chair, several letters balanced precariously on his lap and, Ezio suspected, several more on the floor. He felt more lucid than he had in... er, a while. He was confused at why he was in a bed, and when he tried to trace back how he had gotten here, it all came back in a rush.

Antonio Maffei and Wei Yu's tomb in Torre Grossa, finding the letter and scrambling to get ready for that night, tailing Jacopo and the overpowering sense of impatience, that _stupid_ leap into a pile of leaves, and the meeting with the Spaniard and the Venetian - Barbarigo, he had a name now - and his capture and near death. Someone had kicked him and... what? It was hazy after that. He assessed himself and saw that both his right arm and left leg had been braced and bandaged, meaning they were broken. God, what an _idiot_. He cursed.

The noise made Mario startle awake, the rest of the parchment on his lap sliding forgotten to the floor, and he all but jumped to his feet, leaning over.

"Ezio," he said quickly. "_Nipote_, do you recognize me?"

The young Florentine frowned, confused at the question. "Of course I do, Uncle," he said.

"Thanks be to God," the older man breathed, sighing in relief. "You thought I was your father before."

"I did?"

"Never mind that," he said, sweeping it aside with a gesture, "The important thing is you're home and safe and on the road to recovery. The courier you hired to give us word what had happened with Maffei was very quick, when we learned about the meeting I suspected it would be with Borgia, there were many rumors he had left Roma, and we were all saddled and ready within the hour. We came just in time, it seems, because we saw you trying to run from at least six guards, and more were pouring out of that damn Roman theatre. What happened?"

Ezio winced, looking away. "I was a fool," he said softly, kicking himself over what had happened. Shifting his weight slightly in the soft cushions of the bed, he reported everything he saw and heard since arriving in San Gimignano, from Torre Grossa and the assassin tomb to every detail of tailing Jacopo de' Pazzi to the Roman ruins and how Borgia had coldly killed him for failure.

"I'm sorry, Uncle," Ezio said finally, finishing his recitation. "I was too impatient, I wasn't thinking about how dangerous it was to infiltrate a meeting like that, let alone injured."

Mario nodded, looking at Ezio's leg with his half-blind gaze. "Patience comes to all of us, Ezio," he said slowly, rubbing his chin. "Though I doubt many learn it with the flair that you do, but this lesson will follow you for the rest of your life, and in that respect, it was not a total loss. Also, we now know the name of the Venetian: Barbarigo. I can send a man to Venice to start looking into it, most of his mercenaries are there as well, trying to help... but I'll explain that later. The most important thing is that you'll mend." And he smiled, adding, "And you can learn more about patience as you sit in bed for the foreseeable future, and then work your body back up to proper condition, and then go through my teaching you how to take a leap of faith."

"A what?"

"A leap of faith," Mario said, crouching down to collect all the papers that had fallen to the floor. "You climb so well I thought you already knew about it, but any idiot who thought half-rotten leaves has the same consistency of hay obviously doesn't know about an assassin's greatest means of escape. We'll fix _that_ as soon as you're back on your feet."

Standing, Mario looked down to Ezio for a long moment, just smiling. "It's good to have you back," he said, and he turned and left.

* * *

True to Mario's predictions, Ezio learned quite a bit about patience as he sat in bed. The price of his immobility was the inability to escape - such as when Claudia learned he was awake and spent _two hours_ giving him a piece of her mind. He longed for the days she would collapse into tears and he would shrug it off telling her it was fine, but saying that proved to be a decidedly _bad idea_, as she slapped his hard across the face and stormed out of the room, cursing worse than Federico. She was not the only one to take their turn telling him he was a fool, Ulderico and Alfeo both tag teamed him on his terrible tactics and worse treatment of his injuries, and he couldn't make them go away the way he did Claudia. There was also Annetta, slip of a girl though she was, to inform him that his mother had silently cried all night when she overheard people talking about what happened to him, and he quickly tried to feign sleep to get away from all the lectures. That method failed miserably, however, when Claudia loudly proclaimed to everyone that he was faking it, and then tickling him to prove the point.

He wished terrible things on her at that point.

Sleep was an almost impossible feat; Ezio was one who tossed and turned at night and being forced to lie still was torture. Every twitch and motion was agony, and he couldn't sleep on his stomach or his side. For several days he was as sour as a mule from fatigue.

Eventually, however, he figured out how to sleep, and with the still-insensitive hands of Alfeo he began his recovery.

It was March when he heard bustle throughout the house. He was still confined to his room if no longer to his bed, and he gingerly grabbed a crutch to awkwardly hobble to the door and ask what was happening.

Annetta, the first he had grabbed, was flushed with anticipation. "_Il Magnifico_," she said, breathless, "He's coming _here_!"

That left Ezio agape, and it was several hours before someone thought to come visit him - Mario - and he quickly grilled his unsuspecting Uncle on just _what_ had been happening for the last three months. Mario laughed in his gruff and good-natured way, teasing Ezio that his information-gathering skills were weak if he didn't know what was going on in his own villa, and Ezio groused terribly before Mario explained.

"I sent a letter to Lorenzo when you first took injury to let him know. I know the esteem you hold him in because he knew your father. He wanted to come over right away, but I told him to give you time to heal, I doubted you wanted him to see you confined to bed."

Ezio flushed, embarrassed to admit that.

"Spring is coming, the rains are ebbing, and Lorenzo decided to arrange one of his humanist meetings here instead of Villa Careggi, to 'stabilize relations with friends in Siena' is the cover, but I think it's obvious he wants to see how you're doing."

"But... I'm just..."

Mario laughed, patting his nephew on the shoulder. "I've never seen such a combination of under- and over-valuing one's self," he said, grinning. "You think yourself an assassin even thought you're only just past a novice, and yet you can't understand why the Templars view you as a devil and the benefactor of Firenze would make time to check up on you. We'll have to work on that."

By the end of the week Ezio had managed (with no little help from Claudia and Annetta) to dress himself appropriately and get himself settled to the drawing room; and even managed to be standing when Lorenzo de' Medici, in all his magnificence, came sweeping into the room with his entourage. The man blinked at seeing Ezio, his gaze narrow as he took in the splints still on his arm, the crutches by his chair. Then he ripped his eyes away and looked to Mario.

"_Maestro_ Auditore," he said formally, "It has been much too long since we've met in person."

"The honor is mine, Magnificence," Mario replied with a flourished bow that was at odds with his rough and tumble nature. "Were that we could meet under other circumstances."

"Agreed," Lorenzo said, once more glancing at Ezio. "It's been a long ride, I must admit. I'll see that my people are taken care of, and then we can talk."

"Of course."

For most of the weekend, Ezio didn't see Lorenzo, and that surprised him. He and Claudia both were, in fact, largely ignored as all the humanists entered discussions and heated debates, talking politics and ancient times and literature and art. Lorenzo himself was almost constantly in a locked meeting with Mario, and neither sibling could understand it. It wasn't until the weekend was over when there was a knock on Ezio's door, and he bid the guest enter while he struggled to stand up.

"Ezio," Lorenzo said, alone accept for an assistant. "It's good to see you well."

"_Il Magnifico_," Ezio balked, hastily pushing himself into a bow and regretting the sudden motion for his arm.

"Please do not push yourself," Lorenzo said gently, taking Ezio's shoulder and sitting him back down. "Your uncle has explained what you have been through, and I must apologize."

Ezio blinked, startled. "But... The Pazzi are dead. Every one of them."

"Yes," Lorenzo said, his face distant and hard as he, too, took a seat. "When I saw Giuliano murdered, right before my eyes, I was possessed of such rage that I had never known before. All I could think of was seeing Francesco and all the other Pazzi destroyed for what they had done. Even when I asked Giovanni for help in... certain matters, there was always a certain detachment over the work. I must admit, I've never before believed I could desire the death of others so badly."

The young Florentine looked down, thinking of his own family and the rage that had possessed him, the rage that still drove him, most recently to an impatient brush with death. "Nor I..." he murmured, the gallows strong in his mind.

Lorenzo sensed the mood, and reached out to touch the young man's hand. "Ezio," he said in a heavy, meaningful voice, "thank you for the role you've played in keeping this dream of mine alive a little longer."

Ezio looked at the benefactor, and nodded his head in lieu of a bow. "It is my honor."

"What will you do now, my boy?"

Ezio glanced at his splinted arm and bandaged leg and gave the patron an ironic look. Lorenzo laughed, and Ezio gave a more serious answer. "There are still others I must hunt, _Signore_. They're already digging their claws into the heart of Venezia."

"No, beautiful Venezia..." Lorenzo sighed, leaning back in his chair and for a moment looking very tired. He straightened, however, and gave Ezio a reassuring look. "Then that is where your journey must take you, Ezio. But before you leave us... I have something for you. A gift."

Lorenzo signaled the assistant, the man coming forward and handing something over to the patron. Standing, Lorenzo unfolded the rich embroidered velvet to reveal a half cape much like the one Ezio wore when out in the field. Instead of a plain color, however, it was an expensive red and gold, displaying the Medici crest.

"This cape identifies you as a friend of the Medici," Lorenzo explained. "As long as you wear it, the city guards will be... more tolerant of your actions. But be warned," he added, "it will not grant you immunity from the law, nor should it."

Ezio nodded, reaching up and taking the cape, admiring its expense and detail, the crest and stitching.

"I continue to be honored by you, _Signore_," he said softly, uncertain what else he could say.

Lorenzo nodded, gesturing for the assistant to leave. He turned himself, but paused at the door, looking back. "You father honored me, my boy, over and over with his loyalty and honor. I am ashamed that I can do little else than I already have. I can, however, give you some advice. I don't know which way you intend to go to Venezia, through Bologna or Forli, but if you choose to go by sea, be very careful when you are in Forli."

"... Why?"

"Because Sixtus' 'nephew', Girolamo Riario, is lord there. He is the only conspirator that I cannot see die because of his connection to the Pope. His connections are... dubious, at best; and it is possible he is an enemy of yours, from what your uncle Mario tells me."

Another name on Ezio's list, only one he had just been forbidden to kill. The bastard son of a Pope was above even Ezio's abilities, and now he understood why Lorenzo and Mario had been in such heated conference over the weekend. The two were no doubt debating how or if Girolamo Riario, lord of Forli, would be seen to, and it had been decided to leave him alone. Ezio chaffed at the barrier, but understood the politics behind it - even if he didn't like it. Chewing on the information slowly, he finally nodded his head.

Lorenzo smiled.

"May fortune favor your blade, Ezio Auditore," he said.

"Thank you, _Il Magnifico_."

Two weeks later Alfeo took the splints off of Ezio's arm, and for the first time in nearly four months he could move freely. Sort of. The convalescence had left him in poor shape indeed, and he worked with Ulderico in the training ring, building his muscles back up into shape, unlearning the favor he had given his unwounded limbs, relearning the balance and the fluidity of fighting to survive. Mario, too, took several months off from his travels around Italy to teach Ezio how to climb - another skill he needed to relearn, and made all the more difficult now that the Auditore villa had been stripped of its dead and overgrown vines and the façade repaired and repainted. Ezio was left with only windows and overhangs, and his arms hated him bitterly for the work out.

Ezio also, now that he could move about, pulled out the feathers he had found and limped his way over to Maria's room, his mother still praying at her bed. His injuries had triggered a relapse in her, she had not left her room since his return, and Ezio hoped to nullify the damage he had done as he gave her several more eagle feathers.

Mario watched from the doorway. "I've seen you bringing Maria feathers," he said slowly. "I appreciate what you're trying to do for her, but you have to face the facts: It's not working."

Ezio turned, glaring at his uncle, but the older man continued. "Maybe you should be focused on more important things. Santino has made a new weapon for you at the smithy; you can pick it up whenever you want." After a long pause, Ezio refusing to respond, looking away, Mario sighed. "I'm sorry, Ezio."

It was true, in a way. Maria was not doing better, and there were no signs of recovery from her. Ezio could not deny the thought that he should, perhaps, leave her to her demons but... but... he had failed his father, and Petruccio and Federico, and he couldn't bring himself to fail his mother and leave her to her fate as well. The entire thought process depressed him.

But, then he could climb to the top of the villa, the view was spectacular, and he sometimes spent many hours there just looking out over the small city, watching the people or reading Altair's Codex - as he had done almost non-stop during his recovery.

"_Over time, any sentence uttered long and loud enough becomes fixed. Becomes a truth. Provided, of course, you can outlast the dissent and silence your opponents. But should you succeed – and remove all challengers – then what remains is, by default, now true. _

_ "Is it truth in some objective sense? No. But how does one ever achieve an objective point of view? The answer is you don't. It is literally, physically impossible. There are too many variables. Too many fields and formulae to consider. We can try, of course. We can inch closer and closer to a revelation. But we'll never reach it. Not ever... _

_ "And so I have realized, that so long as The Templars exist, they will attempt to bend reality to their will. They recognize there is no such thing as an absolute truth – or if there is – we are hopelessly under-equipped to recognize it. And so in its place, they seek to create their own explanation. It is the guiding principle of their so-named 'New World Order:' To reshape existence in their own image. It is not about artifacts. Not about men. These are merely tools. It's about concepts. Clever of them. For how does one wage war against a concept? _

_ "It is the perfect weapon. It lacks a physical form yet can alter the world around us in numerous, often violent ways. You cannot kill a creed. Even if you kill all of its adherents, destroy all of its writings – these are a reprieve at best. Some one, some day, will rediscover it. Reinvent it. I believe that even we, the Assassins, have simply re-discovered an Order that predates the Old Man himself..."_

Truth as a subjective, imperfect utility; Ezio had been bothered by it before when he read the words, but now he understood it. He had believed it true that he was ready to face that clandestine meeting between Borgia and Jacopo de' Pazzi, and his subjectivity had blinded him. He understood now, in some imperfect way, that there were hundreds of thousands of truth, and that all of them were correct. He would have to learn to listen harder, pay attention better. He would have to acclimate himself to the truths of others, to understand what they saw and how they saw it.

It was with that in mind that he followed Mario up to the roof of the villa, looking out over the recovering city. The lawn was a bright green around the villa, and Claudia had seen that flags be hung from the flagpoles - not the Auditore crest, but the Assassin symbol, resplendent in black, red, and white.

"Do you see the hay cart below you?" Mario asked, crossing his arms.

"Yes, Uncle."

"Good. Jump into it."

"... _What_?"

"Jump into it. Go on."

"But Uncle..."

"Are we too high up? Perhaps," Mario said, shrugging. "But when you know what you are looking for, and when you know how to take a fall, then height becomes only a function of how much hay is below you."

"... _What_?"

"Oh, _nipote_," Mario said, laughing. "You know how to climb, you know how to leap, but you have no _faith_. I watched you last year, wound up tighter than a wagon spring, and you leap two, sometimes three stories down to the ground with nothing beneath you. What were you thinking about then?"

"..."

"Exactly. There is no thinking involved in a leap of faith. Not the first one; all that is required, is faith."

And, without thought, he shoved Ezio off the roof.

"_Uncleeeeee!_" He landed awkwardly into the hay, head over heals and nearly breaking his leg again. He came out spitting up hay, feeling like an overfed horse, and stumbled out of the cart, sputtering and coughing.

He looked up to shout vitriol, but all curses died in his mouth as he watched his forty-six year old uncle leap off the roof, arms spread like an eagle, hanging almost suspended in the air, before flipping through the pull of gravity and landing in the cart, hopping out immediately after.

"What...? How...?"

"That, Ezio, is a leap of faith," he explained. "An assassin knows how to land, and can tell at a glance whether there is enough hay or leaves or flowers or something else to cushion the blow - there are different calculations for that, but I'll explain the finer details later. An assassin can leap from as high as four stories and land without injury, and while others are forced to climb down in order to pursue, or break off convinced the assassin has killed himself, the assassin is free to run off to anonymity. Each leap cheats death, Ezio, and it requires faith: in one's abilities, in one's body, and in one's mind."

The young Florentine thought of the night he killed Uberto Alberti, running from the guards in the dark and trying to escape the Santa Croce. His deliberate fall into a haystack, after praying to his father.

A leap of faith...

After that came hours of mathematics - a subject that bored Ezio no matter how good at it he was. Fresh hay was the best one could hope for, but he learned the maximum height that one could jump for any type of material - even manure, though he hoped dearly it never came to _that_ - he learned that birds often nestled above such carts, and on his climbing route through Monteriggioni he learned how true that was. For most of the summer, when he wasn't building strength back in his body, he was running through the city - this time not out of some desperate need to expend energy, but to use everything he had learned, diving into hay carts with more and more skill, learning how to take a fall, experimenting on how to fix his pouches to his stylized belt to keep them from opening up upon impact, dozens of new small considerations.

He realized, not for the first time, that there was so much for him to learn to be an assassin, and he wondered if he would ever stop learning.

He thought of Leonardo, always curious about the world, and decided he didn't _ever_ want to stop learning.

After harvest the rains came, almost a year had passed since his accident and Jacopo de' Pazzi's death, and Ulderico finally, _finally_, decreed he was back up to conditioning. Ezio secretly suspected he was several steps above where he was, Ulderico seemed hell-bent on preventing his injury a second time, and so he set off north to Florence.

Santino, the blacksmith, had outfitted him with new helmschmied armor, leather decorated with iron detailing that made it sturdier and harder to break. It was only slightly heavier than plain leather, and Santino boasted on the increased protection it afforded him. There was also the new sword, a falchion, with better balance and stronger metal. Similarly, Doriano, the new tailor Claudia had found, gave him a new silver and red doublet, an homage to his father's outfit and the red the exact same shade as his Medici cape, and sturdy leather gloves. Alfeo checked out his medicine pack personally, and the banker Adler gave him a few extra coins for travel expenses.

Happy, he waved farewell before saddling his horse and heading north to Florence with his benefactor's cape and making good time. He spoke briefly with Paola in the city, catching up with her and seeing how she was doing, and had unexpectedly come across Volpe, the thief staring at him for a very long time before challenging him to a race. Ezio, even with the heavier armor, made a draw to the fox, and pride filled him. Lorenzo he had already seen in Monteriggioni, and did not wish to bother the patron with his arrival. That left only one other person to visit before continuing north.

And so it wasn't long before he was in San Giovanni district, avoiding his old home and its memories and instead knocking on a certain studio door.

"Leonardo? Leonardo!" he called, surprised that no one answered the door.

A man, a sculptor by the look of it, saw him knocking.

"I am sorry, _Messere_, but he is gone. Maestro Leonardo was commissioned by a Venetian noble to paint some portraits. He paid for the Maestro to move his entire workshop to Venezia. It's quite an opportunity!"

Ah, so good fortune had favored his friend. That was for the best. Ezio smiled at the thought, and offered his thanks before moving on.

He took his horse and rode northeast, a steady driving rain making travel difficult and slow, the back roads congealing to mud and muck from previous caravans and kicking all of it up to his horse's legs and belly. Ezio's boots also became splattered, and the travel to Venezia was, Ezio decided, going to be a _pain_. This was compounded with crossing the Tuscan Apennine Mountains, and the fact that he was deliberately taking back roads to avoid untoward trouble. It extended the travel by quite a factor, but Ezio was determined not to be impatient ever again. His mad dash to San Gimignano a year ago had likely alerted Borgia and the Templars of his approach, and he refused to make that mistake again.

The winter rains quickly became a freezing drizzle, making the roads slippery and dangerous, especially in the higher elevations, and Ezio was simply miserable, cold, and wishing for company.

Which was why, when he found a carriage stuck in the mud and a man muttering as he tried to fix it, Ezio thought nothing of helping the man out. He dismounted, shivering, and walked up before recognizing the blond hair and tenor voice.

"Leonardo!"

"Ezio?" Startled, the painter stood and spun around, eyes wide as he stared at the young assassin. "What luck!" he said, blushing as he looked down at the stuck wheel. "I... er, have run into a bit of trouble."

"Let me see if I can help," Ezio offered easily. He remembered the sculptor talking about Leonardo's patron in Venice, he couldn't believe they were both heading to the same location. What luck indeed! He moved around to the other side of the wheel, examining the damage.

"I know how to fix it," Leonardo said, "but lack the means to do so. If you could just lift the wagon?"

"Lift a wagon? In the mud and rain? You are so demanding, friend," Ezio said, taking a moment to assess where he could get the best leverage. Taking a breath, he balanced his weight and hoisted, feeling his boots sink easily up to his ankles in the mud as his body tensed with the weight. He could hear the soft thrum of a hammer and could feel the wheel Leonardo was fixing begin to take the weight of the carriage. The young assassin took another breath, gazing into the carriage to see Leonardo's typical mess of things, unprotected canvases, open journals and scattered quills, boxes of supplies scattered instead of neatly stacked. The largest object, however, drew his eyes as Leonardo finished with his repairs.

"What is this thing?" the twenty-one-year-old asked.

"Eh?"

"It looks like a giant bat."

"Oh, nothing, just an idea I've been working on," Leonardo said. "All fixed."

Ezio lowered the cart and breathed a sigh of relief. His arms and back were _killing_ him.

"I could not leave it behind," Leonardo said, gesturing to the bat-like contraption in the cart.

"What is it for?"

"Well, I shouldn't really talk about it," the blond replied, wringing his hands together. But Ezio watched as the very thought of containing whatever he was thinking about seemed to explode, and in seconds Leonardo was gesturing about. "To hell with it, I can't hold it in any more! Ezio, I think I have figured out how to make a man fly!"

Ezio stared at him for a long, long time, before he chuckled and shook his head. "Come on, I'll drive."

"But I haven't even told you where I'm going?"

"Venezia, yes?"

"Why, yes! How did you know?"

"I have my ways," Ezio said, tying his horse to the carriage. He hoisted himself up to the front of the carriage, Leonardo quick to follow. "So, tell me about flight."

It was all the prompting Leonardo needed, explaining what he had been studying from bats and birds and insects, about wingspan and proportion to bodyweight, about hollow bones and how to compensate for it, wind and speed and a hundred other little small details that mostly flew right over Ezio's head; but the blonde's excited tenor drowned out the drizzle of rain, and warmed the chill of the air and made the winter weather bearable.

That night they found a hostel, and Ezio abused Adler's coin in wine to warm them, the proprietor happy to help a man of Medici, serving his best plates and utilizing his prettiest serving wenches. Ezio and Leonardo spent hours sharing stories and catching up, Leonardo talking a little bit about his studies and the things that fascinated him for the moment - flight, of course - and his work in perspective art and some of the copies he'd been commissioned to make, how his assistants were doing, how far along Vincenzo was (though this was with a slight frown that made Ezio laugh) in his apprenticeship, and anything that came to mind. Ezio, for his part, gave many stories about his travels around Tuscany, helping out with the harvests and what he had learned about vineyards and wines and describing the views from the towers of San Gimignano. He talked about Claudia and Mario and the current state of Monteriggioni, the new shops and the works on the mines and all the little banking bits of running a city. He gave a few exaggerated stories of his evening soirees, a couple of the servers eyeing him appreciatively. Leonardo was impressed to learn that Ezio had taken up painting, and he showed the painter some sketches, one a rough statue of Altair, locked away in the Sanctuary, one of the skull lock that indicated an assassin tomb, one weak portrait of his mother, Leonardo giving tips the entire way.

The pair, to be honest, got very drunk that night, talking and singing. Leonardo eventually called it a night, but Ezio stayed up for two of the waitresses, and there was a pleasant haze of flesh and sweat and thru_st fast forward goddamn it why is he such a man-who_re and moan and bite.

The next morning brought unrepentant headaches, but Ezio shook it off _almost_ as quick as his uncle, once more taking the reins as Leonardo moaned into the cold, eventually sleeping on Ezio's shoulder and slowly slipping his lap as the wine slowly wore out of him. Ezio didn't mind, the extra body heat fended off the chill, and the company was welcome.

They crested the range that afternoon, stopping several times as their wagon got stuck in the slick and muddy back roads, but Ezio didn't mind and the detour seemed to energize Leonardo, finding anything and everything to distract the twenty-eight-year-old and talk about to his friend: patterns in branching of trees, the flow of weather, similarities between horses and humans, anything that seemed to strike his mind.

Eventually, Ezio asked if Leonardo had ever been to Venice.

"Venezia, such a beautiful city," the painter said, shifting his weight. "So many sources of inspiration! Ponte de Rialto, Piazza San Marco, L'Arsenale-"

Ezio straightened, realizing he had stopped hearing birds. "Shh!" he hissed.

"What's wrong?" Leonardo asked, wide-eyed.

"... We're not alone," Ezio answered, and he quickly stood in the carriage, calling on his eagle and scanning the road.

"So? Is that a bad thing?" the painter asked, looking around.

"It is if they-" An arrow twang could just barely be heard, and said arrow sprang onto the bench between the two men. Ezio needed no further prompting, flicking the reins and pushing the teamsters into a full gallop. Several horses whinnied at the sudden change in speed, and mud whipped into the air as they sped down the road.

"What's happening?" the painter was asking, frantic, "Who are they?"

"Rodrigo Borgia's men."

"Who? Why? What do they want with us?"

"I think they want us dead," Ezio hissed. "Leonardo, hide!" Another arrow zipped by, over their heads, and the painter squeaked, quickly opening up the carriage and climbing in.

The horses that ran up alongside the carriage were topped with fully armored men, not a ragtag band of thieves, and Ezio veered his teamsters hard to the left, edging the enemy horses up to the cliffs of the Apennine, forcing them to back off or be crushed. Not long after he steered right, managing to drive two horses over the cliff and down to their deaths. The loss of two men did not deter the brigands, however, and one rode up alongside the carriage, skillfully leaping off his horse and onto the wagon.

"They're trying to climb on board!" Leonardo shouted unnecessarily from inside. "Knock them off! Ezio, someone's on top!"

"I know, I know!" Ezio shouted, flicking the reins again before pulling into a sharp turn. He could feel the wagon tip almost onto just two wheels, Ezio almost instinctively leaning to one side as a counterweight. The carriage landed with a heavy thud, and when he looked behind he saw that the rider was missing from the wagon.

"Be more careful, or we won't be able to fix it next time!" Leonardo shouted, braced inside the carriage amongst his clutter, his voice slightly higher than it had any right to be.

"Tell _them_ that, damn it!" Ezio retorted, running over a bridge before shoving his wagon into another horse, crushing him against the hillside. That made four men he'd dispatched, how many more _were_ there? He cursed as he made another hard turn, the wagon very nearly overturning, and he heard Leonardo yelping and squawking as various things inside fell in different directions. "Get up here!" Ezio commanded. "It's too dangerous for you in there with all that junk."

Leonardo climbed up hesitantly, looking every which way, before climbing onto the front of the wagon. "Junk?" he demanded, indignant in spite of the assault.

"Go, Leonardo," Ezio said, handing the painter the reins. "They're here for me, not you! I'll catch up with you later!"

"Wait, you can't be serious!" Leonardo shouted, watching in horror as Ezio climbed over the top of the wagon, pulling at his horse, and half hopping, half leaping onto the saddle. It was work to untie the reigns, but he managed it and gave the terrified Leonardo one last look before yanking on his reins, his horse skidding to a halt before turning around and drawing his sword, thankful to Ulderico for all his training.

He galloped full tilt to the first rider he saw - there were three total, and kept low in the saddle, keeping his body in a tight ball, before reaching and swinging his sword at the rider, the blow shaking him all the way up to his shoulder. He wheeled, seeing his opponent dive off his horse.

The other two were bearing down on him from opposite sides. Ezio's horse reared as Ezio tried to pulling him around, the mount just as scared as Leonardo had been, and one of the guards rammed his mount straight into Ezio, trying to push his horse over.

"No, you don't," Ezio growled, blocking a sword strike and then following up with a slash faster than the brigand had ever expected - not to the brigand, but to the horse. The animal screamed, backing up and giving the young assassin time to get his own mount under control. He charged the injured horse, making the animal back up and then take off in a terrified gallop, the Borgia man unable to stop it's panicked flight.

Wheeling his horse around, Ezio threw a furious look at the last man, his sword bloody and his horses nostrils flaring in the cold air.

"I'd suggest you leave before I'm forced to deal with you," Ezio offered.

A pause settled over the two combatants, both horses breathing hard, pawing at the muddy earth, shifting their weights and flicking their dirty tails. Ezio was muddy and bloody, his Medici cape soiled and spattered, his temper high, and his mind willing the other man to turn away. Leave, _leave_, Ezio silently commanded. _Leave, or I'll be forced to kill you._

The opponent's horse reared up, and then charged at a full gallop. Sighing, Ezio followed suit, angling his sword and then swinging down at the last minute; startling the horse and making it leap away and messing up the rider's swing. Ezio pulled up and spun around in the span of about two steps, and gave a vicious slash of his sword in the man's back, bouncing off armor. Growling, he dropped his sword and pulled out a throwing knife, watching the brigand gain distance before spinning around and charging again.

"Keep very still," Ezio whispered to his horse, and he took three seconds to account for the four legs under him, before he let loose, the knife flying end over end until it embedded itself deep into the man's neck, sending his whole body flying back in shock and rolling off the horse; a foot caught in the stirrup and the body was dragged by the horse deeper into the mountains.

And then, at last, there was quiet.

Thunder on the other side of the mountains stirred Ezio from his thoughts, and with a weary sigh, he looked up to the grey skies.

"_Requiescat in pace_," he murmured, and he left the senseless deaths behind, pushing his horse into a light trot and disappearing into the back roads before swinging to the main highway, where several people were traveling and he blended into the crowds.

He hoped Leonardo had survived the flight and made it to Forli.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So much to say about this chapter.

We mentioned it before, but here is a bright and shining example of Ezio's self-destructive, obsessive tendencies. Time will eventually beat most of it out of him, but we've all done things when we were "young and stupid," and for Ezio - who does nothing halfway - has a flair for "young and stupid." But, like Mario said, he learned something from it, and so hopefully he won't be so foolish again. Right...? (knowing laughter).

Aficionado's of the game will see two distinct changes in this chapter: The first is that Ezio doesn't get the chance to finish Jacopo off. While a miracle _could_ conceivably happen and keep the old man alive after Ezio kills everyone off in sight, there comes a time when suspension of disbelief breaks- and though we love the AC games, it does happen once or twice for us, and we try to correct it when we can. Besides, with the injuries we've just given him, he was in no shape to finish of Jacopo. And as an aside - note the people who saved him :D. Second, the final meeting with Lorenzo happens in Monteriggioni instead of Firenze. This was more self-gratification than anything strictly necessary; Ezio could have gone to Florence later in the year if we wished, but we thought it would be a nice facet of Lorenzo that he's grown to respect Ezio with the same fervor he respected Giovanni, and cared enough to deliberately visit him on home turf to show his respect. It also makes their conversation more personal, and Lorenzo, as we've said before, is a connection to Giovanni that Ezio treasures. It will make his (much, much, much) later appearance more poignant. And as an aside, Lorenzo asks whether Ezio will travel through Forli or Balogna - if you look at a map of Italy (and yes, we did that, nerds that we are), it kind of looks like (at least on paper) that going through Balogna would be faster, and it gave a great segue to talk about Girolamo Riario. More on him in later chapters.

And we finally have Ezio learn about the Leap of Faith that Altair has probably known about since he was, like, two. And he learns his first leap of faith was in Santa Croce when he prayed to his father. In our opinion, though we don't overtly say it, every leap of faith is a prayer to his father. 'Nuff said.

And oh yeah, we have Leonardo in here! Squee! Is there anything that really needs to be commented on for that? Actually yes there is; there are a few bloodthirsty reviewers out there that have been waiting patiently for mass-slaughter like the game. While we hope this satisfies, we also hope it points out that the death really is senseless. Ezio isn't just some killing machine, and there is a reason he is weary come Revelations - that sure didn't happen overnight, and there will be times when he looks at the destruction he's wrought and be bothered by it. Hope it came across okay.

Next chapter: More Misadventures of Ezio and Leonardo and the trouble they cause. A woman named Caterina. And Desmond. Enjoy!


	13. Reality is Relative

**Part Thirteen: Reality is Relative**

Ezio spent the next day and a half heading to Forli. He'd found an isolated stream and spent quite some time washing the mud and grit and dirt out of the Medici cape, and while washing it, Ezio realized just how far away he was from Florence. Wearing the Medici cape, with its bright red and gold just _begged_ to be noticed. Taking back roads had been useless and Ezio once more cursed himself. The Medici cape would only be of use in Tuscany and Florence. This deep into the mountains, it was a beacon. So once it was cleaned to the best of Ezio's ability, the cape was carefully folded and put into his saddlebag. Of course, Leonardo had disappeared with most of Ezio's supplies in the wagon, but Ezio could survive. He still had coin.

A cold drizzle started to fall again as he weaved from the main highway and the back roads to make his way to Forli. He deliberately took a winding path, hoping that, if people were looking for him, they would be baffled by his backtracking. It also, he hoped, gave Leonardo time to distance himself and arrive at Forli un-harassed. He spent the night in a cold camp and shivered miserably as the temperatures dropped below freezing. The following morning all the roads were icy and Ezio had his horse stepping carefully as they finally made it to the vast flooded fields around Forli.

The walled city faced terrible flooding this time of year for centuries until the nearby rivers had been diverted. Now, though the city center itself wasn't flooded, the plains around and even up to the city walls could be submerged in water at this time of year. It was midday as Ezio approached, keeping his horse at a slow walk to seem like a traveler weary of the dreary weather. He set his horse up in the stables, paying the stable boy to give the animal a good brush down; especially after the harrowing adventure it had had in the mountains, and some extra feed. The stable boy's eyes bugged out and when Ezio asked where he might find a good priced lodging for a few days, the child pointed him to an inn that, while looking like it was on hard times, had warm beds and good food.

Ezio spent the rest of the day searching around the town, looking for Leonardo, or any place Leonardo might go to wait for him. At the stables, he'd spotted the painter's wagon, hard not to see with the damage to the siding after Ezio's race through narrow mountain passes.

It was to no avail, however, and Ezio pressed down his worry that evening, taking a bath that warmed him after such a cold day, and pretended to sleep, trying to figure out ways to find Leonardo that wouldn't leave him exposed to the Count of Forli and his Templar allies. Unlike San Gimignano, there were no truly tall structures in Forli, no towers to scale for him to try and find his friend with his special sight. The only one that existed was part of the Abbazia di San Mercuriale, which was protected by Forli guards. And even if the tower, the tallest Ezio had ever seen, _hadn't_ been guarded by a Templar supporter's men, Ezio hesitated to use his vision like that, given how draining it had been when he'd been looking for Bernardo Baroncelli. It had taken hours to spy that flicker of gold, and his eyes had burned for the rest of the day afterward. No, using his eagle like that would be better as a last resort for finding Leonardo.

So the next day, still feeling exhausted and worried, Ezio set out again. The Abbey of San Mercuriale, as Ezio learned as he chatted with the proud locals, held the tallest bell tower, indeed, the tallest _tower_ in all of Italy, built to honor their local saint and patron three-hundred years ago almost to the year. Indeed, it did look like a challenge to climb, but with green-garbed guards walking around the square, Ezio thought it better to keep a low profile. Also in the square in front of the Abbey, was the Palazzo Comunale which, the locals scorned, ended up inhabited by the tyrannical Ordelaffi family, who's rule had ended with Pino III, who had killed his first wife, his mother, his second wife, and then _was_ killed by the third wife.

"An interesting history, this town has," Ezio commented. The women he was speaking with all laughed and blushed, trying to expound even further. All the while, Ezio's eyes roamed across the square. He didn't wear his whites, though he was more comfortable in them and their connection to his father, he felt he'd be too conspicuous in them. So Doriano's new clothes came out, of black and grays that blended in with the dreary weather and damp town. These cloths were also, thankfully, waxed, so that the rain didn't soak him quite so thoroughly.

Especially when,

"Is this... snow?" he asked one of the giggling women.

"_Si_," she replied with a pretty blush. "I keep forgetting you're from Toscana. You don't get much snow there, do you?"

"Oh, it gets chilly in winter, certainly," Ezio said, holding out his hand as another small flake fell to his palm. "I remember once waking up to having snow in our courtyard and my siblings and I playing out in it before our parents dragged us back to our studies, but I don't think I've ever seen it fall. The coating we got, does it really come from such small quantities?"

There was another round of interested giggles as snow was explained to the charming young Florentine. As well as how to _properly_ stay warm against the cold.

The next day, however, Ezio finally had a reason to leave the young women he'd been speaking to. His sharp eyes, which he switched to his special sight on and off as he watched the people in the town square, saw what he was looking for.

"Excuse me ladies, the person I've been waiting for has arrived."

There were disappointed sighs and pouts, but Ezio crossed over to his friend.

"Leonardo!"

The painter startled, his arm full of papers and brushes dropping to the street as he whirled around.

"Ah!" he smiled brightly. "Ezio! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"As I have you," Ezio replied, already leaning down gracefully to start picking up Leonardo's mess. "I'm glad to see you well."

"Likewise," Leonardo beamed. "I've been searching all over! I tried to mention the attack at the Palazzo Comunale, but they wouldn't hear of it, bureaucratic nonsense, let me tell you, so I've been trying to search the town myself, but I didn't know where you'd try to stay..."

Ezio listened with a smile as his friend prattled on, trying not to frown at how Forli's Count, the co-conspirator he couldn't kill, might know that he was in town. He guided Leonardo through less-seen alleys and smaller roads until they came to the inn Ezio was staying at. Leonardo followed Ezio up to his room, and Ezio leaned by the window, checking outside to see if they had been followed.

Quietly, he closed the shutters.

Turning, he noticed that Leonardo was sitting on a chair by the fireplace and looking seriously. "Do I find out what's been going on now?"

Ezio smiled, starting a fire and then taking a seat.

"I told you that those men after us were Rodrigo Borgia's."

"Yes," Leonardo replied, his eyes bright with curiosity. "Who is this Borgia?"

Ezio laughed, softly, glad that there were some people out there who didn't know of the complications of the war Ezio was fighting, though Leonardo was too bright to not put pieces together.

"The Spaniard is a Cardinal-Bishop and has served under many Popes. We shall simply say that he and I... don't get along. Like the Pazzi and Medici don't get along."

Leonardo sat back, the information sinking in. "Ah, politics," he said at last. "It's so good that a painter like myself never has to get involved."

"I'd rather it stay that way," Ezio replied with a nod, running a hand through his hair as the fire finally started to warm him. "Your help in my various... research projects, however, remains appreciated, if you're willing."

Leonardo smiled brightly, his entire countenance shining with joy. "Ezio, my friend, I will always be there for you."

Ezio smiled as well. "I couldn't ask for a better friend."

"Ah!" Leonardo exclaimed as something came to him. "You said this Borgia-Spaniard is close to the Pope?"

"Yes."

"Oh, what a mess I've made, my friend," Leonardo sat back. "Isn't our current host, Count Riario the Pope's nephew?"

"Or bastard son, if you listen to the local gossip," Ezio nodded.

Leonardo grimaced, realizing the mess he made by going to the Palazzo Comunale. "I guess I'll be getting my things and moving them here."

"No," Ezio said firmly.

His friend looked up, hurt.

Ezio sighed. "I'd rather you were here so that I knew you were safe, but if you're being watched, it's safer for you to stay wherever you're staying. We can meet at the square like we did today, looking like a pair of old friends who haven't seen each other in a while, but by staying at different inns, we _should_ avoid too much suspicion."

Leonardo sat back, thinking about it, but nodded. "Well, then I should be on my way," he said. "Tomorrow we meet up and head out for our ship. It should sail tomorrow."

"_Bene_."

The following day they met at the town square again, and headed for the stables at the south entrance. Ezio put his travel pack in the new wagon Leonardo was using and left his horse in the stables, thinking that the horse itself might be recognized as the wagon might be. Besides, once they were on the ship, and in Venice, Ezio wouldn't need the horse.

They were following a muddy road along the eastern wall, chatting amiably as they had a rarity in Italian winters: A clear day with the sun shining merrily above them. Indeed, it was almost warm. At least compared to how cold it had been since they entered the mountains.

Ezio and Leonardo were conversing, or rather, Leonardo was expounding on his latest theory on something or other and Ezio listened with a smile. However, they had to stop the wagon as a small trio was standing in the road, having a lighthearted argument.

"Certainly you were impressed this time. That was fast!" a man said to a lovely young woman, only a few years older than Ezio.

"I could do better!" the woman laughed. "Anyone could!" Her throaty laugh caught Ezio's ear and he smiled as he hopped off the wagon. Leonardo merely groaned.

"Ezio," he hissed, "not _now_!"

The young Florentine ignored him. "Excuse me," he interrupted, "I'm trying to find the boat to Venezia."

"You're nearly there, friend," the woman said, arching a delicate brow and eying him appreciatively. "Are you in a hurry?"

Ezio smiled in victory. "Perhaps not..."

"You can help us settle a dispute," she said with her throaty voice. "I bet my friend here the first stranger to come along can race the course faster than him."

"I suppose that would be me," Ezio offered as he crossed his arms, suave charm on full display. "And, if you're right? What do I win?"

"Perhaps," she said, eying him again, "a private riding lesson...?"

"Lend me a horse."

The silent man of the trio let out a heavy sigh and passed the reins of a prancing stallion over and Ezio couldn't help but grin at the irony. The soon-to-be-defeated man frowned heavily, his own horse panting beside him.

"Once around the city walls?" Ezio asked.

The two men grumbled their agreement.

Ezio calmed the stallion to perfect stillness, feeling the moment breathing in the cold, dry air, and then kicked his heels, sending the stallion off. Ezio didn't go for the roads, but rather the flooded fields by the roads, water spraying up on either side of him as the stallion eagerly rushed and leapt forward. He only took to the roads when he needed the bridges to cross the deeper waters and Ezio made sure to actually take those at a trot instead, giving the people time to get out of the way before he was off the road again and sticking close to the city walls. He leaped fences, stone or wood, and left waves of water in his wake as he kept going around the city wall. At one point, he plowed through a small group of city guards, who shouted curses after him, but he was already a speck on the horizon before they could even organize enough to get to their own horses.

It was exhilarating, being able to just race a horse like this without the Spaniard's men trying to kill him.

He arrived back where he started and leapt off the horse with a flourish, landing in front of the woman who jumped back, startled, then laughed.

"Where did the others go?" he asked.

"Home with their tails between their legs. They couldn't stand to be beat," she said with her throaty voice. "Your friend said he'd meet you at the docks. Nicely done, _Messere_..."

"Call me Ezio," he replied, with a mischievous smile. "I still have some time for that private lesson."

"It will be my pleasure, Ezio. Call me Amelia..." She pulled him to an old barn and up to the hayloft. Ezio had to admit, her throaty voice was just wonderful to listen to as he lifted her skirts to explore the moist tight_ness of Fast forward! Now! an_d Ezio sat back with a contented sigh.

"Ezio," Amelia moaned. "If you're ever in Forli again, come find me."

"I just might," Ezio replied, caressing her face gently. "But I really must be going."

Amelia reached out and ran a hand over his chest. "Must you?"

He kissed his fingers and put them to her lips. She blushed even more and then pouted. Ezio stood, pulling up his pants and rearranging his clothes while she stayed naked in the hay.

He dropped back down, feeling warm. The ladies he'd spoken to in the square were right. That _was_ a good way to stay warm.

The roads were still damp as he made his way north to the piers, but, as Amelia had said, he was almost there. Ezio found Leonardo still with the wagon, sketching something.

"Leonardo," Ezio said, somewhat surprised that Leonardo was still there. "Why aren't you loading all your things onto the ship?"

Leonardo scowled to Ezio, and let out a frustrated sigh. "It seems that this Avamposto Veneziano has already had their ship set sail this morning. It seems I was _late_ because I was _waiting_ for a peacock who was strutting around for some pretty thing."

Ezio ducked his head and held back a chuckle. "I'm sorry my friend. I didn't mean for us to miss the boat. Do you know when the next ship will sail?"

"The next one large enough for all my 'junk' will arrive three days from now."

Ezio shrugged. "If we arrive back in Forli through north gate this time, I think we should be safe. Riario should suspect we've left by now." He climbed back into the wagon. "At least we can stay at the same inn this time and explore the city."

Leonardo brightened out of his irritated huff instantly and smiled. "Sounds like a good idea my friend." Flicking the reins, they turned and headed back to Forli. "I was looking through some of your sketches."

"I thought you were sketching."

"Oh no, I've noticed you've improved in scale and proportion but some of your details need work. I'd recommend..."

Ezio smiled as he took them back to town.

* * *

The following day, Ezio and Leonardo played tourists, wandering around the town, asking questions about the history and events of import, Leonardo studying the unique city walls with their rounded corner posts and roofs as he theorized why certain materials were used, especially when the history of flooding was explained. Ezio, however, was keeping an eye on the local guard and looking at various routes he could use to get to the roofs.

One of the most interesting structures, one that Leonardo had to sit down and sketch, was the Rocca di Ravaldino, built only a decade ago by the bloodthirsty Pino III Ordelaffi. Construction for a new citadel by Count Riario seemed to have just been finished and Leonardo was fascinated to see how such a young structure already had signs of moss and vines, he was speculating on growth rates of certain plants under specific conditions, such as floods or more damp areas versus dryer settings.

"Come on, my friend," Ezio said, standing. "It's getting late and we should be getting back."

"Of course, of course," Leonardo replied, packing up his materials. "But it's so fascinating!"

"With you, all things are fascinating," Ezio chuckled.

"Oh, Ezio, look!" Leonardo pointed out across the moat. "One of your sketches, yes? I didn't realize you had time to draw while you were looking for me!"

Ezio said nothing, looking sharply at what Leonardo had pointed out. Tucked in a corner, but just barely catching the dying sunlight, was a skull in a triangle.

A tomb.

An Assassin Tomb was in that castle.

Something he wished to explore. He needed those seals for that Armor of Altair.

"Ezio?"

The young Assassin shook himself and turned away, walking back to the inn with his dear friend. "I didn't actually sketch that. You could say that that symbol is part of one of my research projects."

"How exciting!" Leonardo was beaming. "When can we conduct this research?"

"We?"

"You did say you'd like my continued help with your research projects, did you not?"

Ezio laughed. "I did indeed. We're going to need some rope."

Ezio stayed up late that night, getting rope, hooks and harnesses while Leonardo had a meal back at the inn. The young Assassin remembered Il Duomo and Torre Grossa. There had been a great deal of climbing involved, and the catacombs under the Santa Maria Novella were treacherous and ancient. The ropes would ensure that Leonardo was safe, since there was no talking him out of this. It was just a matter of being careful.

They left in the grey dawn, the day looking to be cloudy and threatening another cold drizzle. Ezio insisted Leonardo wear any waxed cloaks he had. The Rocca di Ravaldino was surrounded by a moat, after all, and it was winter and the fields around town were flooding. Better to have _some_ waterproofing as they didn't know what they were heading into. They were also both wearing dark clothes.

A small boat took them across the moat to the tiny platform with the insignia.

"Are you sure, Leonardo?" Ezio asked this one and only time. "This is often dangerous."

Leonardo simply offered another bright smile.

"As you wish." He pulled at the eyes of the skull and watched as Leonardo's face was rapt in fascination and curiosity as something clicked behind the insignia. Ezio pushed his weight against the wall and brick door slowly pushed back. Leonardo darted in first and Ezio followed, pushing the door shut behind him.

"Remarkable," Leonardo whispered, lighting a small torch he'd brought with him. "I think we're down where they control the water for the moat. They use the flooding to regulate their own moat! Look at those levers up there, and the gates! Fascinating!"

But Ezio was looking around with his eagle, and spotted the tiny Assassin symbol pointing the way off in the distance.

"Hold the end of this rope," he said to his friend. "Put on that harness. If you fall, I'll be able to pull you up."

"Pull? Up?"

But Ezio, holding his own end of the rope, had dived into the moat below and swam across. Once he reached the wall, he started climbing up to a higher ledge where the controls for the gates were and shook the water out of his clothes. He secured his end of the rope and silently motioned for Leonardo to follow.

The painter was a decent enough swimmer, but a lousy climber as Ezio had to haul him up.

Leonardo looked to the gate controls and Ezio started tracing the path he'd take up.

"But where can we go from here?" Leonardo asked quietly. "We can't go up. Where's the ladder?"

"They probably only bring out the ladder when they need it," Ezio whispered back. "The dampness would rot the wood and it would be an easy way in for any intruders."

"Like us?" Leonardo said wryly.

Ezio chuckled. His hands were dry enough now, so he swiftly started to climb the braces up to what would likely be a guarded area. Leonardo hissed in surprise as Ezio quickly ascended. At the top, he carefully peeked his head up to see the back of a guard. Ezio immediately switched to his special sight, but saw no other guards around. He offered a silent _Requiescat in Pace_, and stabbed the man with his hidden blade and yanked the man back, letting him fall down to the ledge below. Leonardo let out a startled yelp but Ezio was over the rail and securing his rope once more for his friend to climb.

Leonardo climbed up, without his torch, and looked around. "Typical pragmatic guard house," he grumbled quietly. "Do these guards not have any sense of style?"

Ezio held in a chuckle, switching sight again to find the next pointer.

Going through the guardhouse was delicate work, but Ezio was surprised with how many alcoves he and Leonardo could hide behind until a passing guard was gone, grumbling about the weather and dampness. He kept his eagle aware, looking for the Assassin symbols that always pointed the way.

"Ezio, how do you know where to go?" Leonardo asked quietly after Ezio hauled him up to another balcony to avoid the guard going up the stairs.

The young Assassin grinned, and ran his hand over the stylized compass in a cup that was pointing up.

Leonardo looked to Ezio; his brows raised high. "You've sharper eyes than I thought."

Ezio only chuckled. "Come on."

They continued through the guardhouse until they reached the upper floors of a stable. The guards were more plentiful here, as it seemed it was time to switch patrols and people were relaxing and talking before riding out.

Ezio regretfully pulled out his throwing knives. He did not wish to kill these people. Not with Riario in charge here, but he didn't see another option. The stables were open and the upper floors had only a low railing to hide behind.

Behind Leonardo only nodded grimly.

They both stayed to the upper levels of the stable, Ezio killing guards up here and hiding them around corners, trying to avoid any below seeing them. The horses down below made enough noise that any who did cry out in surprise weren't heard, to Ezio and Leonardo's relief. At last, Ezio looked up and saw an opening that would most likely be to the tomb, an insignia barely seen below a shield pointing up to it.

Ezio climbed up and then pulled up Leonardo. Through another hidden door, they found the tomb of Qulan Gal, the bowman who killed Genghis Khan. His sarcophagus lay on a large red carpet lined with gold tassels and threading on a raised dais under a statue exactly the same as the one in the Sanctuary, like all other tombs Ezio had come across. Ancient looking flags were hanging with the seal of a bow and arrow adorning them, swaying gently. In the midmorning light, treasures and antiquities glinted and shined.

Ezio stepped up to the statue and bowed. He then pushed open the sarcophagus and looked to the wrapped corpse covered in a red sash and removed the seal.

"_Grazie_," he said quietly, bowing again.

Ezio wasn't sure if he was really a believer in the Church, not after all he'd seen, but this place... was holy. In its own way.

Leonardo, having let Ezio have his moment, stepped forward, examining the trinkets and curious, eyes alight in curiosity.

"Look at this, Ezio! This must be from the east! Possibly beyond the Ottomans! But its age! How remarkable."

Ezio gave a soft chuckle, opening the wooden door set in the floor, out of sight of the tomb's splendor.

"Leonardo?"

The painter gave a mournful sigh. "Yes, yes. I suppose people would ask where we got such things." He walked over and looked at the hole in the floor with some skepticism.

"Ezio?"

"We'll end up outside in the moat, most likely. A quick escape that cannot be traversed the other direction."

"Ah! How exciting!"

* * *

The following day, Ezio and Leonardo were once again in Leonardo's new wagon and heading out of Forli up to the docks of the Avamposto Veneziano. The outpost was one of hundreds, thousands possibly, that the Venetians had set up along their trade routes to protect their ships and ferries from the Turks and pirates and any other threats. It was also good for ships that needed to re-supply to have such regular stopping points.

As they parked their wagon, handing the reigns over to a dockworker to start unloading the cargo, Leonardo turned.

"I don't think I've said this yet. Thank you Ezio, you saved my life."

Ezio shrugged and smiled. "I did what had to be done. You would have done the same."

"I doubt it," the painter chuckled, rubbing his neck against the cold drizzle. "Bravery is not my strong suit. I owe you a debt, brother."

"It's nothing." Ezio patted Leonardo's shoulder. "You help me in innumerous other ways. The least I can do is save you from the trouble I drop on you." The painter looked away and Ezio almost thought he was blushing.

"All aboard! We're leaving soon!" a voice from their ship shouted.

"That's our ferry. Venezia awaits!" Leonardo's eyes were once more alight in excitement and curiosity. They stepped up the planks and Leonardo handed over some papers to the captain.

The captain looked them over and nodded, before turning to Ezio." Where's your pass?"

Ezio blinked. "What pass?"

"You don't have a pass?" Leonardo asked. "The Veneziano navy always has paperwork to go with passage to their lovely city."

"You cannot enter Venezia without a pass," the captain said firmly. "Who invited you?"

Really, Florence did not turn away visitors just because they didn't have a pass! Venice had no tolerance! "Um... Nobody," he replied.

"Stop!" the captain pushed Ezio back to the gangplank. "No pass, no entrance."

Leonardo stepped forward to intervene, but Ezio waved his friend away.

"Don't worry Leonardo. I'll come up with something."

Ezio stepped down to the dock and started to walk along the pier, looking at people and seeing who was going to Venice and why and what sort of paperwork he needed. The ship still needed to be loaded, especially with all of Leonardo's junk for his workshop, so Ezio knew he still had some time to figure out something.

As he came to the end of a pier, talking to a merchant about the necessary paperwork that Venice required, he heard a voice off in the distance.

"Don't just stand there! I need help!"

Looking up, Ezio swiftly called on his eagle to look around and see what woman was screaming so. Off in the distance, he saw a noblewoman, her hands cupped by her mouth, was the one shouting. "_Dio del Cielo_! Help me! Somebody help me! I can't swim! Help! Someone get me off this thing! Help me!"

Always one to help a lady, Ezio turned saw an unoccupied gondola and he hopped in. It took a few moments to get used to steering the damn thing, (it kept lilting off to one side if Ezio didn't row it just so...) but he made steady progress to the woman on the isolated island surrounded by flooded plains.

The woman was younger than him, than even Claudia, which likely explained her sharp temper and fiery words. She was also very beautiful, with red hair perfectly coifed with only the most delicate curls framing her face.

"_Madonna_," he greeted as he eased the boat to the island and gave a polite bow.

"Oh you're good," the woman said, all cursing and shouting gone behind elegance and delicacy. "The ladies must like you."

Ezio shrugged, saying nothing one way or the other. "I wasn't looking to impress," he replied, bowing again and helping her to her seat. "Only to help someone in distress."

"Which is exactly why you impress," the redhead said softly, arranging her skirts in the small gondola. "And you are _Messer_...?"

"Auditore," Ezio replied promptly. "But please, call me Ezio."

"I'm Caterina," her lush red lips revealed a lovely smile. "Now, Ezio, we must find you suitable," she raised an eyebrow mischievously, "reward... Do you have any suggestions?"

Ezio admired her delicate shoulders as he rowed the gondola. She was a noblewoman, which meant she had connections. Hopefully one in Venice.

"There is, perhaps," he said suavely, "something you could help me with."

"I'm all ears."

Ezio couldn't quite hold back the chuckle. "Only all ears?"

Caterina glanced back demurely, letting out a low laugh of her own. "Oh, you seem to have an interesting... head."

"And your beauty makes it hard for a man to think with anything else."

"Oh, you're _very_ good," she replied, looking up and down his frame. "But I have to wonder if you're words are the only part of you that performs so well?"

"Now, now," Ezio replied with his own mischievous smile. "Only an exaggerating braggart talks of such things with so lovely a lady."

"You just keep getting better and better. Here I thought true gentlemen were a dying breed."

Ezio smiled. "I must ask, however, how you came to be isolated in the floods?"

Caterina's serene smile and elegance disappeared. "An _idiot_ I must live with thought I was acting irrationally and thought to teach me a lesson."

"Clearly," Ezio said smoothly, "it is someone unworthy of your very thoughts."

She laughed, then gave him a warm smile. "You've no idea how true that is. And you say it so sincerely. You're _excellent_."

"I never seek to impress," Ezio repeated with his most charming smile.

"And it's because you don't that you do so well."

They arrived at the pier once more and Ezio brought them up to the ship he was seeking passage on.

"Ah!" the captain yelled down. "No papers, no entrance! Get out of here!"

"And the favor you need is clear," Caterina said as Ezio hopped up to the pier and offered his hand. "Pity. I was hoping you were asking for something else." And, once she was on the pier next to him, she leaned in close, pressing their bodies together. Hidden in her skirts, a naughty hand traced the length of him and her bosom pressed up to his hard chest. "I _really_ wanted you to ask for something particular."

Ezio only smiled. No doubt her naughty hand felt his reaction to her.

"I'll talk to the captain," she said.

Leonardo came down the gangplank, looking worriedly at Ezio as the young Florentine adjusted his cape to hide his reaction to the lovely lady.

"Ezio?"

"A moment, Leonardo, and I'll be joining you."

"Yes _Signora_..." the captain was hasty to say. "Whatever you say _Signora_..."

Caterina turned back with a winsome smile. "He won't trouble you any more. I... took care of it. "

"Thank you, Caterina." Ezio gave a polite bow.

Her smile grew and took the slightest seductive hint. "Perhaps we'll see each other again. Should you ever find yourself in the city of Forli, it would be my..." she ran a finger along his chin, "pleasure to welcome you."

"I look forward to enjoying your hospitality," Ezio smiled back.

With one last smile, she ran a hand down his arm and walked away, once more graceful and elegant.

The captain stepped forward, bowing to Ezio as he and Leonardo walked up the gangplank again. "Please accept my most humble apologies, _Messer_. Had I known..."

"It's quite alright my friend," Ezio replied kindly.

Leonardo shook his head, looking over the rail to Caterina who was waving to Ezio. The young Florentine waved back as well, smiling with all his eager charm.

"Be careful," Leonardo laughed. "Do you know who that was?"

Ezio laughed. "My next conquest?"

Leonardo gave a small, halted laugh. "I don't think so, Ezio! That's Caterina Sforza, daughter of Duca di Milano. Her husband-"

"Husband?" Ezio looked up sharply. He had a specific policy on married women, and that was to _not_ touch them. He couldn't stand anyone doing that to Claudia and he would never have betrayed Cristina like that.

"_Si_," Leonardo said with a smile of victory at knowing something Ezio didn't. "Her husband is Lord of Forli. That woman is as powerful and dangerous as she is young and beautiful."

Ezio leaned back on the railing, looking up to the cloudy sky. He laughed to himself. "Sounds like my kind of lady."

Leonardo just rolled his eyes.

* * *

Desmond blinked. Surprised to be looking up at the skylight of the loft of the warehouse. He could have sworn he was going to be in the Animus for another hour or so...

He looked over to Lucy, who was getting up from behind her computer. "Everything all right?"

"Better than all right," she said with a smile. "You're making amazing progress." Desmond couldn't hold back a smile as Rebecca unhooked him from the Animus.

" 'Amazing' is quite a strong word," Shaun grumbled from his station.

"Then why are we stopping?" Desmond ignored the British prick.

Rebecca, fiddling with some of the wires, hesitated. "Prolonged exposure to the Animus can have, uh, side effects." She looked away.

"Awesome," Desmond replied with sarcasm.

"It's nothing to worry about," Lucy reassured. She continued confidently, "You haven't shown any of the symptoms."

"Symptoms?" Wait, they had used the Animus enough to _document_ symptoms? Suddenly sarcasm seemed like a woefully understated response. "What symptoms?"

"Degradation of cognition, temporal hallucinations, multiple awareness issues, overlapping realities, you know," Rebecca rattled off.

Desmond felt an involuntary shiver spill down his spine. He didn't want to go _insane_ thank you. He just wanted to be an Assassin. He may have the training, he may have the know-how, but he _wasn't_ an Assassin yet. He wasn't sure when he would be, but Desmond knew he was at least on the path. Assuming his brains didn't scramble of course...

"So what you're saying is..." he asked, hoping for clarification.

"What we're saying, Desmond," Shaun bit out, walking over, "is if you're not careful, you may not need the Animus to visit with your ancestors." The historian arched a brow. "Which wouldn't be a bad thing assuming you could control it. Up until now, though, no one has," he finished seriously.

Desmond knew what Shaun was talking about. "Subject Sixteen."

"We have safeguards, Desmond," Lucy reiterated. "And they kept him in the Animus for _way_ too long, sometimes days at a time." She touched his arm. "We're being careful with you."

"... I hope so."

They had a moment of silence, as the heavy implications of failure were once more addressed.

"Anyway," Lucy changed subject, "I was hoping we could test out your skill retention. See if you've picked up some of Ezio's abilities."

Desmond easily snatched the offering. "I'm game."

"Great. Meet me downstairs after lunch." She gave a bright smile and headed out.

Desmond's stomach rumbled and he chuckled. "Lunch does sound good about now."

"My turn to cook," Rebecca said, stretching. "I'm gonna enjoy not being seated at a computer for a bit. After lunch I think I'll run a diagnostic on a few things. Make sure nothings building up or going to surprise me." She offered her own bright smile. "Down in the wiring, _best_ part of the job."

Desmond nodded. "I was always partial to wiring myself. Couldn't stand learning about code."

Rebecca's face brightened. "Yeah, you learned it old-school didn't you?"

Shaun scoffed, following them to the kitchen. "Now let's not degenerate into talking in zeros and ones. Some of us like to speak _proper_ English, unlike you lot."

Rebecca laughed. "You can stay at your desk and keep doing your research thing."

"Please. Like you could ever make a proper cup of tea."

"Hey," Rebecca kept chuckling, "I can make a better cup of tea than you can make coffee."

"Yeah, sure, whatever you say," Shaun groused, heading to the kettle in the kitchenette.

Rebecca turned back to Desmond. "Hey, nice work today. You're a natural."

"Thanks," Desmond replied. "It's definitely getting easier. I gotta say – after all the crap I went through at Abstergo – It's nice to be with the good guys." Nice to finally work with people who _cared_.

" 'Good guys?' " Shaun scoffed as he spooned out his tea leaves. "Let's not get carried away."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rebecca retorted.

"In case you've forgotten, Rebecca, we're _Assassins_," Shaun replied with heavy sarcasm. "I could look it up for you, if you like. Basically, it means we _assassinate_ people."

Desmond didn't know what had put Shaun in such a foul mood, but he decided to intercede. "Only when we have to," he said firmly. Firmly with the background of what he'd learned growing up, what Altair learned as he took down the Templars and chose to live by, what Ezio was just starting to realize. "Only when we have to."

"It's a choice," Shaun said slowly like talking to a child. "You're choosing to kill."

"I haven't killed anyone," Desmond retorted defensively. Seriously, what bug crawled up his ass?

"No. Not yet," the historian said coldly. "But what do you think all this is for, eh? You think Lucy is giving you Ezio's abilities so you can build schools in South America and deliver rice to starving Indonesians?" Sarcasm was dripping from his voice again. Bitter sarcasm. "What are you Desmond, a vegan? You'd be the first vegan assassin in history."

"Look, it's not ideal," Rebecca interjected, trying to diffuse the male testosterone that was getting to violent levels. Her voice was heavy with memories as she continued, "And taking a life is never easy. But sometimes there's no other way. Sometimes, Desmond, people have to die for things to change."

"She's got a point," Shaun's kettle was boiling as he poured his tea, anger drifting from his frame. "But don't fool yourself into thinking you have no say," he sat down near the door. "I mean, isn't it that what we're all about here? Safe-guarding free will?"

Shaun then proceeded to ignore them as he opened up a thick, ancient book and started flipping through.

Desmond shook his head and started opening cupboards, pulling out things to help Rebecca cook lunch. He was getting a little tired of instant, and he saw enough things that he might be able to make a light soup.

"Sorry..." the technician said, working beside him. "I didn't mean to make it into a whole big thing."

"Nah, it's cool," Desmond replied. Rebecca wasn't responsible for Shaun's sour attitude towards him. He decided to change the subject. "So, how's she treating you? The Animus?"

The change worked and Rebecca gave a small smile. "The translation software is still a bit laggy... It's what I'll be working on this afternoon," she explained. "You're probably catching the odd bit of Italian. Sorry about that."

"No worries," Desmond replied. "Abstergo's machine wasn't perfect either. Swimming seemed to be a big issue."

Rebecca smiled and they continued to make lunch, eventually sitting at a different table than the irritated Shaun. Down below they could hear the forklift being operated and Desmond was tempted to ask what Lucy was doing, but couldn't find the proper place in conversation to ask, so he let words flow around him, much like Altair would do when hiding from guards.

Still, the earlier conversation about how Subject Sixteen went insane lingered in the back of his mind. Desmond certainly didn't want to end up like his predecessor, leaving so much blood on the walls, but there was something about Sixteen that Desmond almost understood. There was a message that Sixteen wanted to pass on, and Desmond felt like he was on the precipice of it. But he couldn't understand _why_. What was the purpose of all this coding and puzzles? What did Sixteen deem so important?

"Thanks for the soup, Desmond," Rebecca leaned back from her meal. "We should have you cook more often."

Desmond shrugged. "Gotta learn somehow when you're living on your own. Frankly, I got tired of takeout real fast."

The technician chuckled and started to clear the plates.

Desmond glanced over at Shaun, who had been giving them the silent treatment for lunch, taking notes from his book and sipping both his tea and soup.

With a sigh, Desmond decided it was time to try and make peace. He moved from his table over the Shaun's.

"What could Sixteen have found that needs so much secrecy and security?" he asked, hoping to use Shaun's self-proclaimed decryption skills as a way to smooth ruffled feathers.

"Oh, I don't know, do I?" Shaun bit back. "Lucy thinks it's something about the Codex, but I'm not so sure." The historian set down his notes and tea and looked off into space for a moment. "I'm all ears, if it's as life changing as Sixteen says." His expression soured again. "Blimey, if _I_ was allowed to use the Animus, _I'd_ be the one in there finding out. Instead," he grumbled, "as usual I'm forced to sit here on the sidelines."

Desmond nodded, sipping his water and letting Shaun's mood wash over him. Shaun, as a historian, likely found the Animus to be a dream come true: A chance to really look around history, as it was, and see events unfold. To take the greatest unsolved mysteries, and _solve_ them.

Desmond couldn't hold back the chuckle. The irony of a historian unable to use the greatest historical tool in creation, explained a great deal of the sour attitude. Not just that Desmond was the newbie.

"What are you up to?"

"What am I –" Shaun repeated with great disdain, "who are you, my mum?" He scoffed and shook his head. "I've been running traces on the Codex pages. Looking to see if any of them are still around."

Success. The British prick answered a question. Granted, it was clothed in biting words, but it was answered.

Maybe Shaun just spoke the language of sarcasm.

"And?" Desmond asked.

"Nothing concrete," Shaun said firmly, shutting his book. "Reports on one in the archives of the National Central Library in Florence. Maybe a few in the hands of collectors... probably Templars." Shaun sighed and took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'd send someone to check it out, but we're very short on manpower."

"How do you think the Codex wound up in Italy?" It had been bugging Desmond. The Codex had been written by Altair, but Altair was from the Middle East. "I mean... it seems so random."

"Dante Alighieri by way of Marco Polo," Shaun replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Desmond took a moment to try and remember who those people were, but drew a complete blank on Dante Alighieri. Marco Polo, however, he'd seen a show or two about on the History Channel.

"Seriously?"

"Something happened in 1321, yeah," Shaun replied, all sarcasm and biting commentary gone as he talked about the subject he loved most. "Now, I'm still working on making the connections. But from what I can tell, Polo encountered the Assassins while visiting Kublai Khan."

Desmond gave a disbelieving look.

"That's right, this must be when he obtained the Codex. Now, when he returned to Italy, he passed it on to Dante. Dante was close to them – if not an Assassin himself. Now, I have no idea what brought the two of them together... But I tell you what, I reckon we can find out." Shaun glanced down the hall to where their loft was.

"...I don't think Lucy wants us messing with the Animus," Desmond replied, disliking shooting down the historian.

"Hells yeah," Rebecca echoed from where she was cleaning the dishes.

"Yeah, you're right," Shaun agreed with an almost wistful tone to his voice. "We've got enough to deal with. I guess satisfying my curiosity will have to wait."

They sat in silence for a moment and Desmond hesitated to call it comfortable. He felt like he'd finally made some sort of connection with Shaun, and could only hope it would put a stall on Shaun's more snarky comments.

Down below the forklift was still droning on, so Desmond assumed Lucy wasn't ready for him yet.

Turning to Shaun, he asked, "How did you get involved in this?"

"Most Assassins, Desmond, are like you, yeah?" Shaun said like he was talking to a child again. "They're 'born' into the Brotherhood. Not me, though."

"Ugh, here we go," Rebecca groaned from the sink.

"What?!" Shaun said on the defensive. "He asked!"

Rebecca just shook her head and Shaun ignored her, turning back to Desmond.

"Anyway, I've always been fascinated by the unexplained," he continued. "There's something exciting there, you know, a sense that life is more interesting, more mysterious than we've been led to believe."

Desmond raised a brow. "So, what, you just stumbled across the Assassins?"

"No, I found the Templars first, actually," the historian said quietly, looking away. He looked back to Desmond. "Abstergo's a big company. It's too big, which means there were slip-ups, you know, like that mess they're having right now with the fluoride. Only I was tracking this stuff years ago. I must have been, what, fourteen? Fifteen?"

"You knew Abstergo was a Templar company?" Desmond was impressed. Assuming Shaun was the same age as Desmond, that meant Shaun was snooping things out around the turn of the millennium. Computers weren't that good back then, though there were always chatrooms and message boards talking about what hacker breached what security protocol. And what about fluoride...?

"No, not at first," Shaun corrected. "I just knew they were up to no good and I figured maybe I could do something about it. So I starting digging up everything I could on the company, posting stuff to news groups, trying to spread word, looking for people with stories to tell."

"You must have gotten Abstergo's attention," Desmond assumed.

"Well, fortunately, I got Rebecca's first," the historian said with the tiniest of smiles, turning to Rebecca. "Otherwise I'd be at the bottom of a river," he quietly added.

"You're welcome." Rebecca turned her head from the dishes.

"Yep, she tried to warn me. Told me I was messing with the wrong people." Shaun grinned.

"And what did you do?" Rebecca playfully retorted.

"I thought you were mental," he said with a completely serious voice and a teasing smile.

"But now you know better," the technician smiled back.

"Yep, now I know you're just a _bit_ mental," he said dryly.

"Long story short, I saved his ass!" Rebecca bragged, wiping her hands dry and turning to proudly state her work. "Multiple times!" Then she laughed, her eyes twinkling in amusement. "Should've just dropped him and let Abstergo have their way."

"Listen to you, trying to be all 'bad-ass'," Shaun groused back at her.

"So what happened?" Desmond asked to get back to his original question.

"I have a gift, Desmond," Shaun said, back to seriousness. "I have a gift for seeing things. Making connections, like your eagle vision, you know. Only useful."

"We offered him a place with us," Rebecca stated, still smiling as she turned back to the dishes.

"Yes, you did, yeah. The alternative?" Shaun snorted, sarcasm heavy once more. "A life on the run from the most powerful organization on the planet. I decided to prolong my life. I'm eccentric like that. So I signed up. I've been doing research and analysis for them ever since." Then Shaun leaned in as though about to bestow some great secret. "Best part is, I love it."

Desmond smiled, counting it as a victory and noting that Shaun and Sarcasm could probably never be properly divorced. Considering the conversation closed, Desmond stood, stretching, and went to help Rebecca with the dishes since he had helped cook.

"Nice to see a gentleman around here from time to time," Rebecca thanked him.

Behind them, Shaun snorted. "Well if you two are just going to keep wasting time with idle chatter, I'll get back to work."

"What are you doing?" Desmond turned around. "Besides making database entries?"

"I'm keeping tabs on the other teams."

"Other teams?" Desmond asked. Then his mind thunked him on the head. Of _course_ there were other Assassin teams out there. Desmond had been isolated for so long, he'd forgotten that he now had support. Support outside of these three people if he so chose.

Shaun didn't comment on Desmond's stupid response and Desmond felt stronger that he had somehow made a connection with the British historian. "The Templars have been hunting down the Pieces of Eden using the map they got from you at Abstergo. Luckily, Lucy has provided us with a copy as well, allowing us to pursue them."

"How's that working out?"

"So far, so good."

"If they find even one piece," Desmond said quietly, memories of Altair facing off with the damned Apple flicking across his mind, "we'll have problems."

"Oh, you're picking up on that, are you?" Shaun groused. "That _is_ why we're training you. Once you've acquired the necessary skills, we'll be able to send you into the field."

Desmond nodded. Learning from Ezio, yeah, he definitely could see himself out in the field. "And you?" he asked. "Why aren't you out there?"

"I'm not out there 'cause my expertise lies in other areas," Shaun replied quietly. "And to be honest, I prefer it that way. But make no mistake, Desmond," he said, turning to him. "I'm an Assassin through and through. I've killed before. I expect to kill again. It's just that... I'd prefer not to."

Desmond nodded. He accepted that. Especially after the heated debate before. Killing was a choice. One Shaun preferred not to make. That was something Desmond understood all too well from his own childhood, as he looked back on it with fresh eyes.

Desmond shook his head. He couldn't hear the forklift any more so he decided it was time to get going. "Good luck with all your work this afternoon," Desmond offered the two of them, and headed out and down the stairs into the warehouse.

Lucy had indeed been busy with the forklift. The crates had all been moved and shuffled about to create an obstacle course, one that Desmond's eyes were already following the lines of, plotting paths and estimating jumps in a way that Ezio was just doing in Forli and that Altair did automatically.

Lucy was leaning by the forklift, studying her creation with a critical eye.

"So what's the plan?" he asked.

"We're going to see what you've managed to retain," she said with a playful smile. "Come on."

Together, they walked the perimeter of the warehouse, Lucy explaining the jumps and climbing lines she'd made, based off what she'd been studying in Florence architecture while Desmond was in the Animus. She'd been measuring distances, checking heights. She couldn't make something as tall as a building, not with just a forklift, but she'd made do.

"Abstergo's out there, looking for us. They're better funded and better equipped," she explained. "So it's only a matter of time before they find this place. We need to be ready for them when they do. I turned off select defense measures. I want you to activate them. I'll let you figure out how to reach the sensors."

"Aw, come on. Not even a hint?" Desmond chided with a light chuckle.

"Open your eyes, Desmond," she replied seriously.

Desmond nodded and in a flash immediately started climbing up crates that Lucy hadn't even stacked, making her gasp as he swiftly reached the top and jumped onto the beams supporting the roof. Once there, however, he paused, feeling sick to his stomach. He looked down to Lucy, but there was something... wrong.

"_Vieni qua! Bastardo, basta!_"

"_Non iesta! Prenderlo!_"

"_Vigliacco! Ritornare qui!_"

Below him three city guards, or rather, their ghostly, pale, see-through forms, were running by and attacking... was that Ezio?

"Uh, Lucy..." Desmond called, feeling something icy go down his spine and grip his heart. "I'm seeing things."

"Do the hallucinations last longer than thirty seconds?" she called up.

"No..." he replied slowly.

"Then it's nothing to be worried about," she said calmly.

Below spectral horses galloped by, riders in heavy chain mail shouting, "_Heide! Halten Sie auf und ich werde Sie rasch töten!_"

Desmond couldn't quite stop shaking his head and blinking rapidly to make the damn vision go away.

Hallucinations, Rebecca had said.

Speak of the devil...

"It'll pass," Lucy said confidently.

The haunting images faded and Desmond waited, still perched on the ceiling i-beams, and stayed stationary for a full ten minutes. Nothing else flickered across his vision, and he hesitated before standing and going at a more sedate pace down the beam before leaping to a bar and swinging across to an upper catwalk. He spied a red light, one of the deactivated systems Lucy had mentioned, and swiftly turned it on, checking the wiring around the window it was attached to.

"So how am I doing?" he called.

"You've picked up every single one of Ezio's skills," Lucy called back in amazement. "The adoption rate is fantastic! Another day or two and we'll be done."

Desmond smiled. Less time in the Animus was always a plus, especially after that freaky ghost shit.

Glancing around the catwalks, Desmond saw another panel for a window across the way and swung back to the i-beams. He traced along them at a quicker pace than before, trying to put the hallucination behind him and then leapt to a ceiling light and then the catwalk to activate the box.

"All right, you've gotta tell me," Desmond called down, seeking more distractions from that vision. "Why Ezio? Why Italy? I mean, we could've just gone back to Altair again. Follow him during his early years."

"It started with Sixteen..." Lucy said, looking down.

Desmond paused, and leaned over the railing.

"Ah, good old Subject Sixteen," Desmond sighed. The one person he didn't want to emulate. "He repainted my room, y'know... _with his blood_!"

"I've been going through his files," Lucy replied. "Vidic flagged a couple of his Animus sessions. A bunch of different ancestors, different dates and locations... ancient Africa, the Middle East... but towards the end, he became obsessed with Italy. I think he knew about the Vault."

Vault? What Vault? Vault of what? Holding what? Desmond felt hopelessly behind again, but he didn't say anything.

"A few of the records of his later Animus sessions are missing," Lucy continued, "and the sessions that are there... After everything the Templars put him through..." Lucy looked away, "after everything _I_ put him through... it's all scrambled. If we hadn't pushed Sixteen so hard, we'd have all the answers already... and maybe he'd still be alive."

Desmond didn't like the look on her face. Not at all. So, as he seemed to be doing all afternoon, he changed subject.

"So you're after the Codex and the Vault?"

"I knew you had an ancestor in Italy who was at the center of all this," Lucy replied. "We just lucked out that it was the same ancestor as Sixteen. Maybe we can find out what was so important."

Desmond nodded. Then he hopped on to the rail, leapt down to a crate and leapt even further down to another crate, before jumping across the distance to land in front of Lucy, who jumped back in surprise.

"Lucy," he said seriously, "what happened to Sixteen wasn't your fault. You were just as much a prisoner as I was." And when in those sorts of situations, there _are_ no good options. "Don't blame yourself. You did what you had to, to survive. No one can fault you for that."

Lucy looked down, her eyes misting, before she gave him a watery smile. "Thanks," she said quietly, touching his arm. "I'm glad you're here."

Desmond gave her his own smile, and spread his arms, offering a hug. Lucy hesitated, but then came forward, accepting his embrace as he offered her all the support he could when he still wasn't a full Assassin yet.

He held her for a moment, then she pulled away. "Let's finish those defense systems."

"You got it," Desmond replied. "Then you're running with me again."

"Oh," she said archly as he headed off to where he saw another keypad to activate.

"Well yeah," Desmond called back. "You've been stuck in Abstergo for too long. When was the last time _you_ were able to run a course like this?"

Lucy laughed.

Once he'd activated all the keypads, they took off to the obstacle course, Lucy keeping a surprisingly good pace while Desmond kept slipping ahead of her as his eyes tracked different paths than the ones she designed and using shortcuts to get ahead of her.

The sun was setting when Lucy, breathless, finally called it quits.

"I think we've done enough for the day," she panted.

Desmond was winded as well, but controlled his breath better.

"Sounds good. I wouldn't mind dinner about now."

"You have dinner," Lucy retorted. "I'm heading for the shower."

Desmond's brain produced a _very_ nice picture, but he pushed it aside.

He rolled his hips and his shoulders as he made his way back up to the loft, not quite stretching but relaxing the muscles he'd been working out. He crossed the catwalk and entered the hall leading to the factory loft when ever_ything chang_ed and there were se_veral guards st_anding at attention. He took a b_reathe, remind_ing himself this was a hall_ucination, but it felt mu_ch stronger this time; pe_ople were walking to_wards him so many people a_nd he held his head bec_ause this isn't real this isn't rea_l this isn't real a fig_ure stood in front of h_im and gestured him to follow and the hunt was on..._

* * *

There were...

He saw...

_stallions galloping about people moving past him standing still in a street anticipation in his mouth in his feet in his stomach release needed release anticipation predator hunting loved the hunting great prey target chase the target chickens squawking dogs barking cookpots dieing smells everywhere salty air horses, stallions, running galloping there wasn't much time had to make this count energy bursting inside him coming to a head_

What the hell...

He looked around, seeing Eur_opean roofs mi_xed with intricate carpets wa_res for sale a_nd guards changing shift.

Where is this...? Where am I?

A Roman arch un_like the ones in Florence and Monteriggioni and Ro_me but it was Roman from when their emp_ire stretched all the way to the Holy ci_ty.

It's... it's Acre. And... Altair? How the hell...?

Evening was app_roaching the guards we_re changing and there was_n't much time he had_ to hurry.

I'm not even in the Animus, how am I living through this? I... I must have passed out... The symptoms Rebecca and Lucy were talking about...

No, no... Just having some kind of weird dream... Going without sleep for who knows how long... So hard to rest when captured or living in fear of it... Guess I shouldn't be surprised...

Around the streets not b_eing obvious timing was ter_rible guards would be fresh off shift but it w_as necessary the hunt was pulsing in h_im and he had to satisfy the _anticipation._ He walked out into the massive square in front of Ric_hard's citadel, long empty of the En_glish king; the markets were closed not even st_ragglers were left which was to h_is benefit because only one per_son was there the most important per_son.

That must be his target...

The chase was on, in_to the citadel and up a ladder, darting over roo_ftops the target was very skilled as he had exp_ected and the two flew over roofs and scaffolds and hanging pla_nks, darting over arches and leaping past the tops of trees. Guards were everywhere but both par_ticipants of the chase were too ski_lled to be seen even at their speeds, above so man_y eyes invisible to the world, even the one_s stationed on the roofs had no chance of seeing the Eagle of Masyaf and the focus of his preda_tory grin._

They leapt up the citadel wall and down its path, the tar_get slightly faster for knowing the la_nd better than he, and into the dark shadows of the tower, slamming the door so fast he nea_rly slammed into the sturdy wood at spe_ed and the target would _pay_ for that later. He knew the path, ho_wever, from his ti_me assassinating William of Montferrat and so his hands sought the old hand_holds and he scaled the tow_er, up the iron rings and a_bove the viewing bal_cony and up further still, to the ve_ry top of the to_wer where his tar_get stood, wai_ting for him.

She was staring up at the moon, full and still climbing into the sky. With a soft, pleased grin she pulled her hood down an_d hey, it's the woman from Jerusalem. What was her name? Maria. Yeah. Wonder what he wants with her..._

The two stood, staring at each other, and he could feel energy fit to burst in his body, his breathing becoming short, the press of time making him hungry and he stepped forward, when she gestured, coyly, for his approach. His body erupted in fire and he flung his arms around her, she reaching up to grab his face and their mouths crushed togeth_er whoa, wasn't expecting that..._

Time was against them, he had to leave at dawn and she had her own assignment, and that made both of them less than tender, grasping and feeling and C_hrist fast forward... Fast forward! God damn it this is a dream, I have to wake myself u_p and not even truly bothering to undress. His teeth scraped at her neck and her hands teased him with shuffling under his belts and his coattails, searching for his manhood even as his own hands, all nine fingers, tugged at her hose and explored the folds they hid until at last neither of them could bear it an_d fuck make it stop I don't want to feel _his_ love for her... Jesus he loves her, why does he love her? Didn't she try to kill him?_

They rode each other, hard and fast, exploding inside of each other until neither one knew who was who; for they were one in body, mind, and soul; and connection like this could not be refuted and they _wonderful_ together.

But time was against them.

The moon had climbed to its zenith and he was forced to admit he had to go, and she looked at him so sadly, not wanting him to leave, he not wanting to go, and he kissed her forehead, whispering her name, stroking her hair, their hands clasped until the last, before he finally managed to drag himself away. An eagle perch stood out on the peak of the tower, and he crept across it, looking out over the expanse of the city bathed in moonlight, the cathedral dominating the skyline. It was all dreary, because what he wanted was right behind him, and he turned slightly, offering one last, hungry, lingering, loving gaze, before he took flight and disappeared.

_Wait a second... Why aren't I following Altair? I'm stuck here with Maria._ She was sad but she was determined, she was an Assassin, now, and she would pr_ove her worth. Oh_ shit! That must mean...

She... she's pregnant. I just... No, he just... and now she's...

This is one weird dream...

I... I...

Did I do that? Or did Altair?

Is this a memory?

Or just a dream...

* * *

**Author's Notes:** This chapter is best summed bu by our beloved beta, Tenshi, when she said she had a hard time beta'ing this because she just got so _into_ it.

I could talk about Ezio and Leo, the decision to have them explore an assassin tomb together to solidify their friendship, or comment on how the tomb is strangely only a few years old, or talk about that terrible horserace memory that we tried to make workable, or our take on Caterina for later sequences, but really, this chapter is about Desmond. And the dream. And Altair.

This was, hands down, the coolest sequence in the game. It was so GREAT to replay Altair, and then to realize just what it says about Desmond's sanity, well, in short we loved it. I had claimed the right to this sequence early on, having no idea what I wanted to do exactly, but wanting to be the one to transliterate that scene and get everything across that I got from playing it. I had, at best, a quarter-baked idea (not even half baked, just quarter) about format, but between Tenshi's response and Mirror reading in and looking up to just say "Woah..." I think it was a hit, and so I'm really curious what you the readers - all two of you - think. It was actually because of this sequence that we/I chose to do the side-synching with italics falling in and out of the text back in the first novelization, and the "traveling" the reader takes from Desmond to Altair and then sharply back to Desmond... I can only hope it worked out as good as I think it did. It also informs some, er, _other_ sequences that come up (I'm looking at you, Vault finale).

And as a technical point, I love the differences between Desmond and Ezio and Altair. Ezio would have been all suave and genteel, but Altair is so stick-straight his passions burn him to cinders on the inside. It was great to see and then write the difference. And Desmond, well, we get a tiny glimpse on why he doesn't like watching Ezio's amorous adventures with this dream. More on that later.

Next chapter, someone wakes up from that dream, but who is it? :D


	14. Acclimalting to Venice

**Part Fourteen: Acclimating to Venice**

Sef's eyes snapped open, uncertain where he was first, or how he got there. No, not Sef... Maria half sat up, vision blurry and half awake, making her rub her eyes. Her breathing was hard, uneven, and she realized dimly that she was covered in sweat. She still had to prove her worth... No, no, that wasn't right, Altair was leaving at dawn, he _hated_ leaving her but his duty was to the Creed and they both understood.

... No, _that_ wasn't right either. Who was he?

He looked down to his left hand. Five fingers. Five whole, un-amputated, fully functioning fingers.

Altair blinked, and then shook his head.

_Desmond_ blinked, and rubbed his temples, leaning forward and wondering what the _fuck_ his mind was trying to do to him. He took a shaky breath, trying to sort out his thoughts.

"Sorry to barge you on like this," a rich contralto voice said, piercing through his foggy mess of perception, "but it's getting late and we were... Hey, you okay?"

Desmond looked up, seeing Rebecca, headphones and all, music floating faintly into his ears, grounding him to reality. He was here, he was _here_, in 2012. He was Desmond Miles. Everything snapped back into place, and he shivered, shaking off the last vestiges of that _screwy_ dream.

"Yeah, yeah..." he said, getting up from his bed. When had he managed to get to bed? Last he remembered was being with Mari... was going to the loft for... He shook his head. "All good. Weird dreams. That's all..."

"All right," Rebecca said, a little uncertain. "I'll let you get ready. See you in a few."

"Yeah," he said, slowly, only half aware that the rocker chick was already gone. He looked around the loft, seeing Lucy and Shaun already at their stations, Rebecca walking over to the Animus and booting up the machine. Yeah... 2012... He shook his head, getting up and walking past the couches and plasma, and beelining to the kitchenette. Coffee. He needed coffee. Lots, and lots, of coffee.

Two cups later and nursing his third, he reentered the loft.

"Ah! Good of you to join us," Shaun said from his station, traditional sarcasm rolling off his tongue. Desmond winced, unsure how to explain.

"Sorry, long night..."

"What a professional, what a professional approach!" Shaun said.

"Leave him alone!" Rebecca said, sounding annoyed.

"Well, you'll forgive me if I want to get some actual work done," Shaun bit back. "Hmm, madness, isn't it?" he added, waving his hands as if _he_ were the crazy one. Desmond shied away, uncomfortable with even the suggestion of madness.

"Shaun!" Lucy called, her voice a whiplash across the loft. "Please. That's enough."

"Alright..." Shaun defended, turning back to his station.

Desmond loved Lucy just for that. The vision of Maria filled his vision. Strike that, he _liked_ Lucy just for that... Really... Shaking his head, he walked over to her desk, wanting to thank her.

"Hey..." he said slowly, a tentative smile on his face.

"Uh, hi," the hot blond said, glancing up with bright eyes. She looked away.

"Are you okay?" Desmond asked.

"Yeah," she said quickly, her voice shaky. "I'm fine. Everything's fine."

"... You sure?"

Lucy sniffled, rubbing at her eyes. "We lost two more teams last night. That's eight of us just... gone."

Just like the assault at Abstergo, listening to the sounds of guns over Vidic's speaker system as they slowly faded, the clinical report of all targets neutralized. Desmond winced. "I'm sorry."

"I don't know what to do anymore..." Lucy said, shaking her head, still rubbing her tears away. "It just keeps getting worse and worse." She let loose a muffled sob.

"Hey," Desmond said, walking around the desk and crouching down by her, taking her hand and holding it. "Remember what you told me? You gotta have faith." He held up his hand, ring finger held do_wn Altair's han_d to remind her of that silent cue she had given him at Abstergo, her gift of hope. "And look. Here we are. Safe and sound."

Lucy let out a half-crazed laugh, filled with sorrow. "For how long? And when they find us? Then what?"

Hard questions, with no easy answers. Desmond offered the best he could: "When that happens – if that happens - we'll deal with it." He put his other hand around her, holding it with both and lifting it up slightly, ducking his head and looking into her watery eyes. "I'll keep you safe."

She looked at him for a long time, her face red and cheeks wet, but she offered a soft, shy smile.

She never looked more beautiful.

"Anyway," she said, taking a shaky breath, "enough with my little breakdown. I should get back to work. And so should you."

"Are you okay with that?" Desmond pressed.

Another deep breath, less shaky, and a nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine this time. For real."

And Desmond took his turn to smile, getting up and hol_ding her hand to the la_st, and he got into the Animus.

* * *

Being a Florentine, Ezio had grown up with certain... prejudices. For example, Sienna was a traditional enemy of Florence, and it had taken a lot for him to pack up his family and run to Monteriggioni. But, after years of living there, the twenty-one-year-old had learned to love Sienna simply _because_ it held Monteriggioni. It held his uncle and his pragmatic views of politics, and honest people like Santino or Alfeo or Ulderico. He loved the Tuscan countryside, the rolling hills and rich farms and golden summer mornings, and with that in mind he had turned to Florence's other traditional enemy, Venice, and tried to keep an open mind.

Venice, however, did not have such an open mind with him.

The first thing that assaulted him was Venice's (in his mind dubious) requirement of having a pass, and though he was glad that Caterina Sforza had taken care of it, he was weary of a gift from a woman who was married to Girolamo Riario - Pazzi conspirator and nephew of the pope, ergo close to Borgia and the Templars. Even with her interceding, the captain eyed him suspiciously from the moment they were out of sight of Forli, and Ezio was acutely aware of the attention and did not like it.

Then he arrived at the city.

The smell was _awful_: rotting fish, stagnant water, wet wood, and decidedly no sea breeze to whip it all away. As he disembarked, Leonardo expounding on the impressive architectural genius that allowed the city to, essentially, float on stilts, Ezio couldn't help but think the city was rotting under his feet, and he found himself wondering if he could feel the city sway under his boots. Unfortunately, he had been stupid enough to share that thought with Leonardo, and the painter immediately started spouting mathematics of motion and wondering if such a thing were possible and orally outlining experiments to see if it were true and whether or not it could be controlled. It wasn't that Ezio didn't enjoy his friend's company, but sometimes it was just hard to keep up with him.

The captain was still eyeing him, and so he followed the blond twenty-eight-year-old down the gangplank and looked around.

Venice was not constructed with the traditional sand and brownstone of Florence, instead it was some kind of clay brick - not unsightly, to be sure, but just different, and Ezio simply could not abide the fact that almost every building he saw seemed to be painted - again, not a bad thing, but there was no... _uniformity_. Bright sunshine yellow on one house, a blue on another, an audacious red on yet another; there was no pattern that Ezio could discern, and the visual confusion left him a little disoriented and more than a little perturbed.

Open mind, he reminded himself, he had to keep an open mind. He had no idea how long it was going to take to find Emilio Barbarigo; Venice was a big city and the Florentine assassin had no contacts like he did in Florence and Tuscany. He was well and truly on his own, Mario off in Rome again to monitor something and no backup to save himself if he did something stupid. The sense of isolation only seemed to aggrandize now that he was in the coastal city, and it was another black mark against it.

He pouted, once more reminding himself of an open mind. He asked Leonardo about the sights of Venice, hoping to learn the major landmarks, and the enthusiastic painter was off on another tangent, talking about churches and statues and the like before a man tentatively walked up to him, dressed in blue with a round race and very closely cropped hair.

"_Messer_ da Vinci?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"_Buongiorno_ and welcome!" the man said expansively, a wide grin on his face. "I am Alvise. _Il Signor_ Dona' has asked that I escort you to the workshop. Are you ready?"

"Oh, yes, of course!" Leonardo said.

Ezio stepped forward slightly. "Is it far?" he asked.

"Uh," Alvise said, surprised to see an armored man by a harmless painter.

"We're both new to Venezia," Ezio said easily, putting on the charm as he patted Leonardo's shoulder to emphasize the point. "And we'll get lost very easily. Perhaps a tour of some major landmarks will help... acclimate us to the city. I'm certain, as a Venetian, there are many buildings you are proud of, yes?"

Alvise lit up like a candle. "Ah, Venezia!" he said proudly. "What other place is as beautiful, as stable, as perfect? Come, I will show you her wonders!"

Ezio smiled and nodded to Leonardo, gesturing the blond painter to leave his material be to the couriers and load-men, and the trio went north, up the river a small ways before stopping at an impressive wooden bridge, filled on either side with buildings much like Florence's Ponte Vecchio**.** "Our first stop, the Rialto Bridge! Behold the elegance with which she spans the Grand Canal; a symbol of Venetian unity and pride!" Leonardo was already flitting back and forth, trying to take in everything, and Ezio studied it as well, trying to construct a mental map of the district starting with this wooden bridge and the loading dock on the main river - which he now knew was called the Grand Canal.

"Let us continue," Alvise said after several minutes. The turned west and traveled down a main thoroughfare. Further down the street the man pointed to an impressive church. "Here we are: San Giacomo di Rialto, oldest church in Venezia. Isn't she beautiful? And her clock tower? _Magnifico_! Come, come! There's more to see!"

Ezio scoffed, not having enough time to commit the church to memory as Alvise set up a strict pace, pointing out buildings on their walk seemingly at random, rattling off bits and pieces of information - too fast for Ezio to retain and hardly slowing down. The man did not understand how to take a tour, apparently, and Ezio wondered if all Venetians were this... hurried.

After an hour, however, Alvise did slow down, conveniently in the smelliest place he could find, Ezio thought, reaching up and covering his nose in disgust.

"No other city can match the size of Venezia's markets," he said, making a sweeping gesture to an enclosed open-air market, round arches holding up the structure above it but the shaded courtyard-like space filled with stands and tables and buyers and sellers. Their product? Fish. The stalls were filled with fish - freshly caught and at the best price! - hanging from hooks and beams, spread across tables, held up by pushy entrepreneurs, and making the entire area _reek_. Alvise happily went up to one merchant, selling _cooked_ fish at least, and quickly explained the tour and watched as the cook turned on his charm to the two Florentines.

Leonardo was besmirched, had been for the entire tour, eyes darting everywhere trying to breath in the sights, and Ezio smiled and shrugged his shoulders, buying the cooked meat and they sat down in the shade and the stench to eat. Well, Alvise and Leonardo ate, Ezio took as much as his stomach would allow.

"Fascinating, fascinating," the painter was saying. "Are all the markets specialized like this? Or can other varieties be found? I would hate to think I have to travel the entire city looking for the oils and dyes necessary for my paints, or canvas."

"No, no," Alvise said, dismissing the concern with a wave of his hand. "Be it spices or silk, from near and far, there is... there is..." His voice trailed off, eyes caught on something beyond their table.

Ezio pulled his hood further down before looking back to the market, seeing four Venetians in armor - likely city guards, he took note of the uniform - storm into the market and horn in on one particular fishmonger.

"You were told to stay home!" one guard in blue and leather said.

"But the rent is paid!" the fishmonger growled, eyeing the drawn sword and spears. "I have every right to sell here!"

"Emilio disagrees!" the guard said, and the fully armored men overturned the tables, shooing away customers and overturning the fish.

"No, stop! Stop!"

Ezio's eyes narrowed. Emilio? Emilio Barbarigo? He couldn't be certain, but given the cruelty of the Pazzi and the lengths the Templars had gone to kill his family...

"Let us continue the tour... elsewhere," the round-faced Alvise said, getting up quickly. Leonardo gave a nervous nod, and Ezio reluctantly followed. He couldn't afford to cause a scene so quickly after his arrival. He would have to be patient.

The tour continued well into the afternoon, Alvise still doing a terrible job of helping Ezio map out the city. Leonardo helped even less, stopping at every market and stand and asking Alvise questions that - while interesting - were more diverting than useful. For example, Leonardo pulled the entire tour to a halt at one shop as his curious eyes caught sight of an articulated wooden figurine.

"Look!" he said. "Isn't it amazing? It's fully articulated, imagine the craftsmanship that went into making it... Would you mind buying it for me?" he said, turning bright, child-like eyes to Ezio, face flush with excitement. "I left my money with my bags."

Ezio crossed his arms, feeling slightly put out as he heard a rush of feet behind him. A small group of men dashed past them, Leonardo oblivious as he tried to turn his eyes into that of a puppy, determined to wear Ezio down. The distraction was all that was needed, however, as someone ran into Ezio with enough force for him to take one stumbling step.

"Hey!" he shouted, "Mind your step, _coglione_!"

The person who ran into him turned, and Ezio was surprised to see it was a woman, short dark curls peeking out from her hat, dark eyes, and perfectly shaped lips. Even the men's clothes she wore could not hide her full curves. She looked Ezio up and down, grinning suggestively, and continued running, unrepentant for bumping into him. Ezio himself smirked, making Leonardo sigh, at such a fine specimen of the female form.

At least, until he checked his pockets and realized one very important pouch was missing.

"Thief," he muttered, cursing bitterly.

Alvise laughed. "A smart man in Venice will keep his coin pouch in a much better place, but then one hardly knows how that oversized belt of yours even keeps your pants up, _Messere_."

Leonardo, still holding the figurine, realized what had happened and sighed, putting the wooden doll down. "Perhaps later," he said, turning back with his face cheerful once more.

The tour continued, the painter easily distracted, and Ezio began to realize another facet of Venice that decidedly didn't like him.

Bridges.

Because the city was ensconced over water, in order to get from one part of the city to another, one had to cross bridges. Back alleys were no longer alleys, but canals, and Ezio did not relish the thought of swimming through that foul-smelling water. The bridges themselves were always packed full of people, all the time, as travel bottle-necked to the smattering of bridges and people tried to gently or brutally shove their way through.

At last, however, Alvise stopped at one particular bridge, pointing down further along the canal.

"And here we have the Palazzo della Seta," he said, "home to Emilio Barbarigo."

Ezio straightened, suddenly focused.

Leonardo was marveling. "Look at the gothic architecture. There isn't much of that in Firenze, so fascinating and exciting!"

"Normally, I'd suggest a closer look," Alvise said, "but...with the way things are now..."

Ezio turned intense eyes to the round faced man. "Why? What's happened?"

"He is attempting to unify the merchants beneath a single banner," Alvise explained. "There's been resistance, some of it violent."

"What kind of resistance?" Ezio asked, stepping to the edge of the bridge, his eyes taking in everything of the _palazzo_. Guards were everywhere.

"They say they're fighting for the people; for freedom or some such nonsense. Nonsense, if you ask me."

But Ezio was already eyeing the grand entrance, seeing the fishmonger from earlier marching up to the guards with an intent look on his face.

"They destroyed my stand," he shouted. "I demand compensation!"

"Here you are, then," a guard replied, taking his lance and ramming it into the gut of the merchant.

Grunting, the fishmonger growled, "The _Doge_ will know about this! I'll report you to the Council!'

"Good luck with that, my friend," the guard said with a sneer, two armored men moving up and grabbing the merchant's arms. "You're under arrest for disrupting commerce."

The fishmonger openly gaped. "What?! You just invented that! There's no such law!"

"There is now."

They carried him away, Alvise and Leonardo oblivious to the event as they talked about architecture, steeped arches versus perfect semi-circles, and other trivialities. But Ezio saw it, and his eyes narrowed. Uniting merchants under one banner might be a good idea on parchment... but not if Emilio Barbarigo was in charge of it, that much was clear. Not only was he a Templar, responsible for Ezio's family's death, but he was also a cruel man.

The last of the tour wrapped up with the sunset, Alvise at last arriving at a blessedly unpainted brick structure and turning around.

"And now, I present to you, your workshop, _Ser_ da Vinci! We spared no expense in its design! You'll see it is perfect; as if you never left Firenze! I wish you great success and hope you enjoy Venezia as much as she enjoys having you." He ended with a pleasing bow and sweep of his hands, looking for a tip.

"Most impressive, most impressive," Leonardo was saying, eyeing the building. The painter was oblivious of the extended hand, and Ezio smirked when the twenty-eight-year-old simply patted Alvise's shoulder and breezed into the studio. Alvise looked to Ezio for recompense, and he smoothly shrugged his shoulders.

"My pockets were picked, remember?"

The grumbles hid most of the cursing, and Alvise departed as Ezio followed his friend into the studio. Most of the painter's boxes and materials had been moved in over the course of the tour, and Leonardo was already poking through them, pulling out things mostly at random, putting them down as something else caught his eye.

"So, here we are!" he said. "Exciting, isn't it? Will you be staying here? I don't know how many rooms there are, but I don't mind sharing a bed if we have to..."

"Maybe later," Ezio said, thumbing his chin and think_ing dear God this guy's clueless Leo's totally into hi_m. "I need to visit the Palazzo della Seta; try and gain an audience with Emilio."

Leonardo turned away, disappointed before turning back around with a bright smile. "As you wish, but should you find yourself with free time don't hesitate to visit. My door is always open."

"_Grazie_, my friend," Ezio said. Leonardo held out his arms, and Ezio gladly hugged his friend, happy for the safe journey and pleased that his friend had such a generous patron.

"It's nothing," Leonardo said, giving an extra squeeze. "Whatever adventure you are about to embark on, stay safe."

"I will."

His first stop was to the nearest herald he could find, listening to the news of the day and wondering if he could learn anything about Emilio Barbarigo other than he was a merchant of Venice, cruelly trying to dig all other merchants under his boot. That was hardly a clear picture. Sadly, however he was mostly disappointed:

"By order of the _Doge_ himself, known carrier pigeons are to be shot at will by the populous. The bounty of one ducat per hundred shall be offered as recompense for the truly industrious... Tired of feeling the road through your boots? Is the rain keeping your feet cold and clammy all day? Perhaps it's time you made an appointment to treat your feet right! Come to Faco, he's got just the boots for you! ...To all members of civilized Venetian society, let it be known that there will be a party at the Palazzo Tangolo in one week's time. Giofrangi Tangolo himself shall preside... Following the death of the Borgia ambassador, the Council reminds all citizens not to eat the fish from the city's canals. Extending a warning to all visitors to the most serene republic is considered a civic duty..."

Ezio sighed, most of the information useless. But... a Borgia ambassador died because of _fish_? He was suddenly glad he had eaten as little as he did, and hoped Leonardo would not fall ill. Or was it an assassination by one of Mario's men? No, Mario mostly worked with mercenaries; he wasn't subtle like that. Still... it gave Ezio hope there might be allies in the city.

The sun was almost fully set, and if Venice was anything like Florence the shifts would be changing now, and so Ezio backtracked to the Palazzo della Seta. He got lost no less than three times, cursing Alvise bitterly and finally climbing up to the roofs, startling several homeowners as they saw a figure climb over their windows. Once above the streets, he quickly saw the distinctive gothic architecture of the _palazzo_, and now that he was oriented, he stalked his way over. He wasn't foolish enough to stage an assault now, but he wanted a better lay of the land and the grounds. A scouting trip first, and then he would come back with charcoal and paper, sketching out what he would need.

Scaling down to the ground, he approached the only bridge that gave access to the _palazzo_. It was filled shoulder to shoulder with guards. It was easy enough to distract them, but after... How best to get inside? He could scale the wall and...oh that's no good. Ezio traced his eyes up the building, noting windows and stone arches, but one ledge was well below a simple square window, and Ezio was good, but he could never make that jump. He needed to find another way.

He was about to go up again, circle the _palazzo_ and examine the other walls and facades, when a group of men, thieves by the clothing, once more blew by him. Several deliberately rammed into Barbarigo's guards, angering them, and taking off on light feet as the more heavily armored men took off after them.

That... that left the entrance open, when would Ezio get another chance? But he still didn't know anything and...

Another thief - the voluptuous girl from before, raced past Ezio and ran full tilt to the _palazzo_ walls, taking the route Ezio had just been tracing. She wasn't as fast as Ezio, but he clinically appreciated her skill as she made her way up the side of the building, and he openly whistled when she _did_ make the leap Ezio knew he couldn't, reaching that square window.

Archers, however, had taken sight of her - something Ezio had not anticipated, and he could see the arrows snapping on either side of the thief. One of them finally hit its mark, piercing her leg and Ezio could hear a throaty grunt. The thief struggled to hold on, but the pain overtook her and she fell several meters down to the ground. Ezio was impressed again, the woman twisting as the fall allowed her and landing - not delicately but without breaking any bones. She rolled, grunting again at the pain, and lay still for only a moment before she struggled to her feet. Limping painfully, she exited the courtyard, and Ezio realized she was running right towards him.

"I need your help," she moaned, practically falling into his chest. "We need to go! Now!"

"_Va bene_," Ezio said, unable to say no. "Where to?"

"The water."

Ezio frowned. "That doesn't exactly narrow it down..."

"Useless," she growled, and hobbled out of his grip and down the street.

Cursing, Ezio gave chase; catching up to her easily and trying to grab her arm to sling it over his shoulder, offer his weight as support. She spat at him and limped ahead, refusing his help where she had asked for it before.

Two guards all but appeared from an unseen alley, surprising them both, and Ezio quickly pulled out a throwing knife, tossing it into one guard's leg and ramming himself shoulder first into the other guard, punching him in the gut and then jaw, sending him spinning. The woman thief was already lurching down the street, and Ezio gave pursuit again.

"I'm better off on my own," she growled, limping into the shadows.

"I rather doubt that," Ezio said. "I've already agreed to help you, _Signora_, you might as well accept it."

"Goddamn archers," she cursed, ignoring him and falling to her knees as pain shot through her injury. "Ahh! _Cristo_, my leg!" Ezio roughly hauled her to her feet, but she pushed him away again, having the audacity to look irritated. "What are you doing? Hurry up!"

He supposed that was as close to ascent as he was going to get, and the two took off again, crossing a bridge and then another, the woman never taking a perfectly straight path. Ezio, sadly, was getting more lost by the minute, and he eventually gave up trying to figure out where he was. _She_ obviously knew where she was going, and so he let himself trust her.

Over another bridge they came across a patrol, shouting and drawing their swords.

Ezio extended his hidden blades and dove into the fray, spinning around one man and stabbing him low in the back, kicking at the knees of a second and slicing into his shoulder as his second blade was busy with a third, deflecting a stroke before he could duck under the swing properly and stabbed him in the thigh, and finally leaping up onto the fourth guard and letting his weight press his hidden blade into the man's shoulder. All four were incapacitated, and he looked up to see the thief disappeared.

Of all the...!

He didn't have to guess where she went however, there was a trail of evening travelers climbing back to their feet, knocked over by the nimble thief in her escape, and within minutes he was matching her pace again. She was much slower now, her face glistening with sweat even in the cool winter air. Her limp was more pronounced, blood trailed down her entire leg. It finally could no longer hold her weight, and she collapsed along the edge of a building.

"Augh, _Cristo_," she cursed.

"I never did catch your name," Ezio said, bending down to examine her injury. She batted his hand away, apparently instinctively, before she sighed and answered. "Rosa."

"Honored to meet you, Rosa," he said, scanning the square and trying to figure out where she was going. "I'm Ezio."

"I know."

He turned to her sharply. "What do you mean 'I know'?"

"Not now. Now is not the time for small talk. Or are you blind?" she demanded, wincing.

Another patrol arrived, and Ezio saw men in full armor. He drew his sword, standing protectively in front of the dark haired thief.

"Rosa!" shouted a voice, and both she and Ezio turned to see four men, thieves, baring daggers and stilettos and running towards the armored guards.

"Don't!" Ezio shouted, "Daggers won't-!"

But one of the faster men had darted forward, and had not expected the brutal sweep of the spear, nor the strength behind the follow up thrust, the weapon embedding itself deep in the thief's abdomen.

"_Fabiano!_"

Ezio growled, advancing. The spear had an infinitely longer reach, but even in the metal and leather helmschmied armor Ezio was faster than anyone here, and he ducked easily under a swing, coming up and stabbing both hidden blades into the guard's eyes in retribution before changing to his sword and blocking a blow, circling the blade away and then impaling a second guard. One armored guard came in Ezio's blind side, but a warning from one of the thieves sent Ezio sidestepping, sheathing his sword and pounding his fists together, grinning at the man in sheer bravado. "Try and get me," he taunted, unarmed and coy.

"_Bastardo_," the brute grunted, and moved to swing.

Just as Ezio planned, he grabbed the pole, kicked at a knee and then between the leg, forcing the brute to leg go. The Florentine assassin had the spear, swung in a wide arc, slashing both the armored man in the neck and the fourth guard, leveling the playing field.

Dropping the weapon, he found the other thieves clustered around Rosa, the woman trying to put weight on her foot, arrow still sticking out of both sides.

"Can you walk?" Ezio asked. Rosa's leg crumpled under her in answer, and Ezio swept her off her feet, surprised at how heavy she was.

"This way!" one of the thieves said, pointing and dashing down the street. Ezio was slowed by the extra weight, but he kept good pace with the other four, two always staying behind to guard his unprotected back. If nothing else, thieves in Venice seemed to have some honor.

Unlike Rosa, they took a much more direct route, sticking to the main street almost exclusively. Several guards accosted them, forcing Ezio to stop and defend the thieves and Rosa, sword and hidden blades dripping in blood as he did the sad majority of the work before picking up Rosa and starting again.

They at last made it to one of the canals many bridges, a small dock by its side and a gondola there.

"Ugo!" Rosa moaned, her face white in the moonlight.

The man at the gondola was on the pier almost immediately. He also had dark curls and short hair, a brother? "What's this?!" he cried out, dashing on light feet to Ezio.

"Rosa's been wounded," Ezio explained. "And we've a trail of guards following us."

"Pass her here," the man, Ugo said, trying to take the woman from Ezio. "We'll go the rest of the way in the boat."

"Careful," Ezio said, "Until that arrow's out every movement does more damage." Further advice was lost, however, as an arrow erupted on the dock by their feet. Frustrated, Ezio finished the transfer. "Go!" he commanded, "I'll deal with the guards!"

Running down the dock, Ezio leapt up to a pole sticking out of the water, balancing precariously for a moment as his arms pinwheeled, and then hopped onto another and to the other dock across the canal, running up to the archer and leaping onto him, hidden blade diving into the guard's neck. He turned around, seeing the thief Ugo manning the gondola and making good speed down the canal. He pointed his intended direction, and Ezio was off again.

Down a road, across a bridge, down another dock and knocking another guard into the smelly waters, Ezio leapt up a table, and then to a platform and a series of lantern and flower beams along the canal, slowly getting higher and higher. He spied another archer, already firing arrows into the gondola, and threw a knife to the man's shoulder, incapacitating him. After that was a balcony to another platform, reaching out over the canal and an archer on the far side of it. The man was aiming at Ezio this time, but the Florentine assassin leapt over the distance and knocked him into the water, following the gondola again and leaping down to a lantern post and then to the ground, ducking into a tight roll before dashing forward and shoving another guard into the waters, crossing a bridge and darting down another dock.

He was panting now, over an hour of running hither and yon in circles around the district, carrying the thief Rosa, and fighting guards left and right, Venice was _certainly_ putting him through his paces. Was the city _trying_ to piss him off? He growled, leaping at yet _another_ guard and cutting deep into the man's shoulder before hopping up some barrels and to another series of lantern beams and up to a balcony.

Ezio was losing track of the number of people he was shoving into the canals, cutting into their bow-arms, or out and out killing when there wasn't time to do otherwise. He was almost to the roofline now, leaping from balcony to balcony, using crossbeams or backtracking to find another way across. If he fell into the river now, Ugo would either shoot ahead without cover or wait and give the guards time to regroup, and so he stepped carefully, fighting to keep parallel or slightly ahead of Ugo and his gondola. He'd long since run out of throwing knives, and he was _dog_ tired.

At last, however, they cleared the line of archers, and Ugo signaled Ezio down, which he did with exhausted relief, joining Ugo on the gondola and panting, sweating in the cold air and desperate for breath.

In seemingly no time they arrived at one of Venice's many docks, and Ugo guided the gondola into a secluded pier. The torchlight was stronger than the moonlight, and Ezio realized that Ugo and Rosa were the only ones alive on the gondola. Shocked, he overturned the bodies, looking for arrows. Had he missed someone?

"He's dead, _idiota_!" Rosa growled, gaunt and struggling out of the boat. "Say a prayer later! I need to see-ugh-I need to see Antonio!"

"_Porco demonio_!" Ugo cursed, rolling the body over the edge of the gondola into the water. Rosa moved to get up, but her leg once more crumpled under her, and her cry of exhausted frustration was filled with colorful curses. Ugo was immediately at her shoulder, trying to drag her off the boat to the pier, and Ezio could see he was doing more harm than good.

"Be careful!" he said, stepping over another body. "Let me do it. Go and find this Antonio."

"Don't touch her," the thief hissed, "She is my _sister_."

"But you're only making it worse-"

"I don't need _you_ to tell-"

"Oh, _cristo_ Ugo!" Rosa moaned. "Do what he says!"

He stared at his sister, aghast, before cursing and throwing his hands up. "I can't believe I'm taking orders from this guy!" He looked to Ezio. "If you do _anything_ to her...!"

"I know," Ezio said, thinking of Claudia and the lengths he would go to - had gone to - to keep her safe. He could not fault Ugo for his protective streak, and so he made a show of picking Rosa up carefully, mindful of her terribly injured leg, while Ugo disappeared into the shadows. Ezio followed suit, careful of his steps.

Rosa moaned again, her head lolling to his shoulders. "So tired..." she whispered.

"Hey, hey," Ezio said. "We can't have you sleeping now. What about that man, Antonio? Wake up!"

But all she did was pant.

Cursing, the Florentine assassin lengthened his strides, entering the dark shadows after Ugo.

"Over here!" someone said.

"We need help," Ezio said, striding into some kind of courtyard. People, thieves, seemed to appear from thin air, filling the small space. Ugo was already there, shouting.

"Where's Antonio? Make yourselves useful! Clear a space for her! Make sure we weren't followed, dump the bodies in the pier!" The thieves hurried to do as the anxious brother commanded, one boy - barely a man - shoving rope and things off a table to the ground. A canvas appeared and covered it; Ugo grabbed a candle and gestured to Ezio. "Put her down there," he ordered, and Ezio did so carefully.

Moaning, Rosa came to briefly as Ezio adjusted her head.

"Where are we?" she whispered.

"Home," Ezio replied, Ugo taking her hand. "They've sent for help."

The female thief stared as Ezio for a moment, before offering a coy smile. "Not so useless... Thank you..."

"Rosa!" a fresh voice cried out, a sharp tenor. From the shadows came a man in his thirties came out, dark hair and stylish moustache doing nothing to hide a frightful look. "What's happened?"

The thief grunted, shaking her head. "Just get this thing out of me..." she groaned.

"Soon, soon," the man said, putting a soft hand on her cheek before taking the candle and holding over the injury. "Let's have a look first..." He ripped the cloth of her pants and adjusted the light, examining the arrow. "Clean entry and exit through the thigh. That's good."

"I don't care. Get it out!"

"Rosa, we must take care not-"

"_Now_!" she shouted, grabbing the thief to show her conviction. The older man sighed, his face aging with the gesture, before straightening and nodding.

"As you wish," he said. His eyes flicked to Ezio and Ugo. "Hold her," he ordered. Ugo nodded emphatically, bracing his hands on her shoulders. Ezio moved around the table to the other side, one hand placed at her hips and the other holding her thigh while the older thief places his hands on the fletching of the arrow. He took a deep breath, and with no warning to Rosa snapped it off. The young thief cried out, tears pricking at her eyes, and her entire body was moving, shuddering, trying to find some position that wasn't in pain. Ezio was hard pressed to keep her still, and adjusted his hands accordingly before finding a sweet spot.

"Are you ready?" the older thief asked.

"_Si_."

"Hold on, Rosa."

"Shut up Ugo, I'm not a baby!"

The older thief held a tight grip on Rosa's thigh, his other hand seeking purchase on the arrow, and there was a sudden _yank_, and Rosa's shouted paled in comparison to her latest shriek. Ezio could hear the shadows around him whimpering and hiding from her voice.

"I'm sorry, _piccola_," the older thief said with a soft term of endearment.

"Sorry?!" Rosa shouted, her voice cracking as she collapsed to the table. "You can shove your 'sorry' up your ass, _figlio d'un cane! Cristo! Merda! Cazzo! Porca puttana!_"

"Gaetano, go fetch Bianca and be quick," the older thief ordered. "We need to staunch the bleeding. Help me with this."

Ezio blinked, realizing he was being spoken to. Was he that tired? "How?" he asked.

"Take a clean piece of linen. When I remove my hand, press the cloth into her wound. Are you ready? Now!"

Ezio was hard pressed to move quickly, dimly surprised that fatigue had slowed him so much, but there was only one squirt of blood before he pressed the cloth into the wound. Doing so triggered a memory even as Rosa started cursing again.

"I'm an idiot for not thinking of this earlier," he muttered, and then turned to the older thief. "We need rope."

"Rope?"

"A tourniquet," Ezio explained. "We can tie off her leg and slow down the bleeding, then the stitching that Bianca or whoever you are getting will go faster and cleaner. We'll also need to boil some water for the needle and thread."

"Ugo, take care of it."

"But-!"

"_Now_."

Rosa's brother disappeared, cursing as badly as his sister.

The older thief glanced at Ezio, nodding in approval as he helped hold the woman down from her twitching. "Well done," he said. "You work well under pressure. Where did you learn about boiling water?"

"Let's just say I learned the hard way," Ezio replied, thinking of the stitches of his own that had to be redone because Estachio had forgotten that step, sending Alfeo into a bad mood. Rosa bucked on the table again, still unable to get comfortable and adrenaline preventing her from passing out.

"She's spirited, this one," the older thief said with a proud smile. He looked out to the shadows. "Come on!" he ordered, "Get Rosa inside so that Bianca can close the wound. Keep a lookout for her, and help Ugo with the water." People disappeared and scurried, the man looking down to Rosa and her dark curls. "You'll be alright," he said, his sharp tenor turning gentle. "The worst has passed."

Rosa was too busy cursing and insulting him and the world at large. "I hope you catch the plague, _brutto bastardo_! You and your overgrown whore of a mother!"

"Antonio, I'm here, where is she?"

"Antonio, I have the damned rope, and the water's boiling now."

"We've cleared the last of the bodies, Antonio, and we can't find any signs of city guards following us."

"I've run the entire dock, there's not sign of anyone, Antonio. They know not to come here."

"Good, good," the older thief - Antonio - said, wiping a bloody hand over his face. "Help with Rosa first. Bianca, Ezio, show Ugo how to make the tourniquet and help sew her closed. Hopefully she won't bite too much-"

"_Proco puttana!_"

For the next two hours Ezio was in a quick and dirty surgery, offering the occasional fact or piece of advice he remembered from Alfeo, ducking under Rosa's horrible mouth and Ugo's unfiltered glares. His arms were shaking by the time they were done, blood soaked his clothes almost up to his elbows, and he worried that his hidden blades would rust from it. Rosa finally passed out, from blood loss Bianca said, and when Ezio stepped back into the courtyard he realized dimly it was dawn. He had been awake for over twenty-four hours.

Antonio was pacing the courtyard, dawn light showing he was pale with worry. Ezio let Bianca give her report, instead drawing water from the well to clean himself up. Doriano would hate to learn his new clothes had been ruined so quickly. He rinsed and soaked and scrubbed and washed, trying to save the fine embroidery and detail work of the tailor. The cold water made him shiver when he was finished, and all he wanted to do was go to bed.

Antonio walked up to him. "Thank you," he said softly, his tenor tones more gentle. "Rosa is most dear to me. If I had lost her..."

Ezio shrugged his shoulders. "I've always had a soft spot for women in distress," he said, waving the work off.

It made the dark haired thief grin. "So I've heard."

Ezio stiffened but forced himself to relax.

Antonio saw it, however, and brushed it off. "Don't look so surprised," he said, "We know all about you, _Ser_ Ezio; and your work in Firenze and the rest of Tuscany. Good work too," he added, "if a little... unrefined."

Another connection of Mario's? Just how many people did he _know_? Ezio shook his head. "Then you know why I'm in Venezia?"

"I can guess," the thief said with a knowing look. "You've had a long day, no doubt you're tired. God knows I am. Rest now, I've had a room set up for you. When you have a minute, come see me in my office. There's something we should discuss." He turned with an aristocratic flair and disappeared into one of the buildings facing the courtyard. A timid little boy led Ezio into another, up three flights of stairs and to a tiny excuse of a room with no bed to speak of. When he looked in askance, the child pointed to a hammock hanging from two hooks.

Too tired to protest, Ezio shed himself of everything but his hidden blades - he was sleeping with thieves, after all - and tried three or four times to get himself into the hanging canvas before finally settling down.

Venice seemed to hate him indeed, but at least she had smiled on him with the gift of Antonio, and he finally decided he could learn to like the city.

He was asleep in minutes.

* * *

He awoke sometime in the afternoon, if the sun was any indication, and as soon as he emerged from the building the timid little boy gestured Ezio to go into a different building, the façade cracked and wearing, exposed brickwork everywhere; it was the one Antonio had entered before, and the boy led him to a cramped room, dominated by a table filled with blocks shaped loosely like buildings and arranged carefully. Around it, other tables and shelves were shoved up against the walls, lanterns and candles supplementing the dying afternoon light, and filled with papers, books, and plates of half eaten foodstuffs.

Pouring over the table full of blocks, Antonio looked up.

"Come in, Ezio. Welcome. Can I offer you something? _Biscotti_? Bread? Fish?"

"No fish," Ezio answered, the smell of yesterday's market still fresh in his mind. "Bread is fine."

Antonio pulled out a dagger and cut off a hunk of a roll, tossing it to Ezio; he took one bite before immediately spitting it out.

"What idiot puts _salt_ in _bread_?" The twenty-one year old demanded, wiping his face.

"I suppose it's something of an acquired taste, for you Florentines," Antonio said, shrugging. "You'll have to get used to it, however. You'll be hard pressed to find Tuscan fair anywhere here."

Ezio made a face, taking another bite of bread and struggling to choke it down.

"Enough about that," the thief said, fingering his mustache. "Now where were we? Our failure at the _palazzo_ cost us dearly. Rosa was the only one to make it out alive, and the men who came to help her are either dead or as badly injured as her. My forces are down by over a third; it will take time to recover. No doubt Emilio will use this pause to strengthen his defenses and continue his oppression of the district. You may not share our motive, Ezio, but I know you share our goal."

The Florentine nodded. His care for Venice was minimal, at best, but Emilio Barbarigo was _very_ important to him. "Why not gather your forces and try again?"

"To act in haste would only bring more losses. No. We must resupply and draw new plans."

"... I can ill afford to sit around and wait," Ezio said, weary. He was grateful for the shelter, to be sure, but the idea of one of the Templar's building his defenses did not sit well with him.

"Nor would I want you to," Antonio reassured. "Work with us instead. Already my men begin to mend today's wounds. Seek them out; they'll put you to work. The sooner you aid them, the sooner we can strike."

"What kind of work?"

"How good a thief are you?" Antonio asked.

Ezio tried not to make a face; he remembered the terrible job he had done under Paola's tutelage, and he had not tried to steal since.

Antonio was perceptive, however, and saw the look. "I see. Then perhaps my boys and men can teach you to steal - it is an essential skill for a man to survive here in Venezia, and in return, you can help train recruits in how to climb - that I _know_ you have skills with, if you are anything at all like your father and uncle."

The mention of Giovanni made Ezio think of the gallows, but if it showed at all Antonio did not bring it up, and instead he nodded his head. "_Molto bene, Messere_. I accept."

"It is the right decision."

"I hope it is."

The next day Antonio introduced Ezio to his entire gamut of thieves, some young as ten and some older than even the aristocratic Antonio. More than a few - Ugo most notably, were mistrustful of the Florentine Assassin, and many eyes glanced over to the building that held Rosa and the other two thieves who were recovering from the assault on Palazzo della Seta. The young ones were easily won over, however, when Ezio suggested a simple race over the rooftops, and he beat every one of them by a mile - even in helmschmied armor. The kids were immediately impressed, and even Ugo had to give a grudging respect for the shear speed that the young Florentine had demonstrated.

After that, he spent the rest of the winter and all of the spring showing the youngest how to climb, how to look for handholds and footholds as Federico had taught him, and how to trace lines up the facades of buildings. He was not a natural instructor - at least he didn't feel it - and often Antonio would step in with aristocratic flair and say just the right thing. The older thief had a knack for breaking down the points Ezio tried to make, and he marveled at how instruction became much easier after that.

It was mid-April when Rosa was finally up on her feet and on a crutch. She had spent much of the winter swearing at everyone and everything, except Antonio, Ugo, and strangely Ezio. The Florentine learned that Antonio had taken her and her little brother in as children teaching them everything he knew. Both of them looked up to him as a father figure, and it was obvious that he doted on them both. The pair were more than a little rough around the edges from their childhoods, Antonio explained (much to Ugo's acute embarrassment) that Ugo was mistrustful of _everyone_ on first blush, and to ignore him until he came around. That left Ugo grumbling for weeks and glaring whenever the situation arose. Rosa, by contrast, as the older sister did everything for her brother, taking all the chances and doing all the dirty work. It was like an odd mirror of Ezio and Claudia, and to find a kindred spirit in such a curvy body made Ezio more than a little curious about her. On the other hand, however, she was not some farm girl in the countryside he would never see again, and he knew that _that_ kind of relationship had expectations and consequences, neither of which he had time for if he was to kill Emilio Barbarigo and get one step closer to the Spaniard Borgia.

That didn't mean he wasn't interested, however, and much to Ugo's dismay, _she_ was just as interested in _him_.

"_Salute_, Rosa," he said one morning, seeing her hobble about on a crutch and cursing at some of the children for getting in her way. "You seem to be healing well."

She turned her perfect lips to him and smirked. "_Si_, better now that I can _see_ the city. Which reminds me, how are you finding Venezia?"

Ezio shrugged, charming and flirtatious. "It has its charms. But how do you deal with the smell? How disgusting..." He wiped his nose theatrically to emphasize the point.

They both laughed, Ugo spying the two and pouting outrageously in a corner of the enclosed courtyard. "So," she said in a low, throaty voice, eying him up and down, "what brings you to me?"

Ezio grinned rakishly. "I was hoping you could help me with something," he said, reaching up and thumbing her chin.

"And that would be...?"

"I want to learn to climb the way you do."

Rosa made a face. "Oh. You're terrible. _Va bene_, I can do that. Well," she added, looking at her bandaged leg and crutch, "I can't, but Ugo can. Ugo! Move your ass! Show Ezio how to reach the top of that scaffolding."

"I'll do no such thing for some idiot who thinks bread shouldn't have salt!"

"Do it Ugo, or I'll tell him about what you're like when you're drunk."

"You wouldn't!"

"I'm your sister, you know damn well I would."

"_Cazzo_..." Ugo muttered, hunching his shoulders and marching over to the aforementioned scaffolding. With a breath, he leapt up to one of its support beams, feet pressed against the wall and hands gripping the wood structure.

"Begin in a hanging position like that," Rosa was explaining, "then jump to the ledge above you. As you reach it, grab it with your hand and pull yourself up. There. See how it works? Ugo, do it again!"

"_Rosa_..."

"Again, _pezzo di merda_!"

"_Porco puttani_..."

Ezio understood the logic well enough, but it took over an hour of trying before he mastered how to angle his jump and swing his arm - it wasn't as easy as it looked, and required certain muscles he didn't usually use. Ugo lorded it up over him in spite of Rosa's protests, but was eating his own words when, by that evening, Ezio had climbed the scaffolding faster than him.

"So?" he asked, a pleased grin on his mouth. "How did I do?"

Rosa, just as much of a tease as Ezio, shrugged her shoulders. "I've seen better," she said, coy smile and bored tones.

"Ah!" Ezio said, grabbing his chest. "You wound me with your cruel, cruel words!"

The woman thief gave an indelicate snort. "Alright, show-off, let's put your skills to the test. Meet me in front of the Frari tomorrow."

And, the next day, Ezio was at the Basilica di Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, the Frari for short. The second biggest church in Venice, it was a minor Basilica only, not the same as the Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence, but its impressive gothic architecture made for one of the major landmarks of the mercantile San Polo district. The roofs were some kind of metal turned green, and the tower was one of the tallest in the entire city. Rosa stood in the square in front of it, leaning heavily on her crutch as she watched Ezio swagger up to her, eying him appreciatively. Ugo was there, too, grumbling.

"Climbing a bit of scaffolding is all well and good, but let's see how you do out in the open," Rosa said, throwing her glance up to the massive church.

"Top of that tower, then? I'll be right back," he bragged.

"I doubt that," Ugo muttered. "Even _Rosa_ can't climb to the top."

"Oh, a challenge then," Ezio said. "What do I win when I do the impossible?"

Rosa gave an earthy smile, thumbing his chin as he had done the previous day. "You get to see Ugo drunk."

"Ha!" Ezio said. "Such a tease."

But it was all the prompting he needed, and Ugo, as judge, followed Ezio as he darted up an adjoining building, hopping from it to the greenish roof of the church, and then began climbing the tower. He plotted his route carefully as he went, there were _far_ fewer handholds here as there were on other buildings he had climbed, and it really _was_ a challenge for him to work out how to get from one part of the tower to another, and he used his new climbing technique no less than three times in order to get to some of his desired handholds. Ugo had long since disappeared, not having the reach that Ezio did, and it was midmorning by the time Ezio ascended to the top. He stood on the tower's highest roof, looking out over the city. The smell was gone this high up, just a faint hint of salt, and a strong wind from the sea. The canals shone bright with the morning sun, almost dazzling, and he could hear seagulls.

Venice...

It certainly had its charm.

He sat on the tower for a long time, admiring the view, thinking. Cristina would love this view... But he put that thought away, instead committing the sight to memory for his next letter to Claudia. There was something about being so high above the city, looking down and seeing how small the people milling about were. There was an urge in him to jump, to fly like the eagle he was named after.

There was no hay below him, however, and even then a leap from this height would kill him.

And so he began his arduous climb down, taking his time and working carefully, before landing in a tight roll on the ground, startling several people on their commute.

That night Rosa arranged a party in honor of the impossible being done, and everyone took part, even the children, in fish and pork and chicken and salty bread and much, much wine. Ezio regaled everyone with an exaggerated account of his climb, describing the view as best he could as his audience got more and more smashed. He never did see Ugo drunk, but Rosa was downright _entertaining_, sweating and unbuttoning her shirt and swearing at anyone who dared look at the obvious gifts she was adorned with. There was dancing and disjointed music, Ezio had more than a few drinking contests, and woke up the next morning bleary and confused in his room, several others in varying states of dress and undress cluttered around the floor. The hangover wore off quickly, however, and Ezio enjoyed lording it up over everyone and training them extra hard just for the hell of it. Rosa was nowhere to be seen, but when she did show she looked very satisfied. Ezio wondered who had helped with that and found himself slightly jealous that it hadn't been him.

Ah, well.

Antonio gradually collected over a dozen new recruits, all of varying ages, and Ezio joined them unabashedly in the lessons on pickpocketing even as he taught the fresh blood how to run and climb. Antonio, Ezio learned, was the son of a cobbler and a maid, raised in poverty and believing, like everyone else, that if he simply worked hard enough he could become rich like the nobles. But, even with the education, the noble collegiates and universities refused entry because of his heritage. The bitterness eventually turned to clarity, and Antonio realized the true nobility existed in the people who held up the cities: the thieves, mercenaries, and whores; the merchants and maids and cobblers and tanners; the _people_ not the rich.

Ezio also took it upon himself to give the thieves a more rigorous training regime with knives and daggers, the thief's dismal performance at Palazzo della Seta when they first met showing him just how much the thieves had to learn.

He learned very quickly, however, not to push himself too much when summer came and he went down with the heat.

"I don't understand," Ezio complained after fainting the third time in a week. "Firenze was certainly hot in the summers."

"It's not the heat," Antonio said, smiling as he offered another glass of wine. "It's the humidity. All the water in the air gets trapped on your body, and you work all the harder for it."

After a while Ezio learned what he could and couldn't do in high summer in Venice, and he sent a long and extended opinion on the city in a letter to Claudia, explaining the contract he had taken on to train thieves (thieves! He would never have guessed) and regaling her with stories of the thunderstorms and gaudy painted brick. His little _piccina_ wrote him every week, telling him about their mother's progress (or lack thereof) and new tax brackets Adler had computed and Orazio's latest building project after fixing the church. Mario's letters were less frequent asking after his training (and when would Ezio ever _finish_ his training...?) or offering some tidbit of news on the goings-on of Italy. Lorenzo, too, wrote his own letters, only one or two, mentioning the odd story of his many children or expressing in hidden words rumors of so-and-so or such-and-such doing things perhaps they should not. The patron of Florence had quite the information network - likely why Mario was gallivanting around Italy all the time - and occasionally Ezio would learn one of Lorenzo's enemy's was in Venice, and he would take care of the problem.

When he wasn't training thieves, he was chatting up Leonardo if the painter wasn't busy, and generally familiarizing himself with the city. He also took extra lessons from Antonio, learning what he could about the politics of Venezia. They had a Council of Ten, lead by a _Doge_ - a man elected as the most senior officer and held the title for life, and he learned that the name Barbarigo was actually noble; Emilio was more than just an arms merchant. He was cousin to a pair of brothers, Marco and Agostino, and another cousin, Silvio. Antonio said that some were Templars and some were not, and that even he did not know which was which aside from Emilio.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** And, thus, we begin the four year time skip. Let the whining begin. You have NO IDEA how hard it was to fill in the time skip. At least with the ten-year skip later we have a war and an extra video game we never played to thrive on. Not so, here, and dear GOD it was like pulling teeth to figure out how to make it all work. And there was Rosa, and Ugo, and describing Venice with Ezio's Florentine prejudices and, well, the hair pulling was generally painful. For all of Venice really, but I'm sure you'll hear more of it as the fic progresses.

Rosa and Ugo - while not the hardest characters to define from the game - we probably had the most care with. Rosa, in particular, has a certain... image she projects in the game around Ezio, and we were once gain saddled with trying to make it believable. More on that in the next chapter. Ugo, too, we wanted to make a very particular archtype. As Antonio describes, he doesn't trust anyone at first blush, but there are other nuances in his character that we tried to put in place, as well as skill sets compared to other thieves. More on that in later chapters as well.

The Venetian assassins in general were hard for us; Ezio doesn't get the intense personal connection to them like he does with Lorenzo or Paola or Volpe, and many of them he meets in a painfully short amount of time, making it hard to even define the characters/relationships. Sigh. We did what we could.

We also hope that the sense of weather and temperature are vaguely accurate. Wikipedia can only give so much in the way of information, but it seems logical that Venice would be much more humid than Florence and - living in an area where humid summers really can make you faint, it entertained us greatly that Ezio would have the same problem. I'm sure our Italian fact-checker will disabuse us of any misconceptions.

And note Desmond's first sense of fractured reality, and think long and hard about Brotherhood. Just think about it.

Next chapter: that damn four year gap continues.

**Note:** Anyone watching the weather may have noticed that thing called Hurricane Sandy, this Frankentstorm that is a bastardized child or Hurricane Irene and the October snowstorm of last year. Guess who's in the path of it? If you don't see us next week it'll be because we're without power for days, trapped in our house because of fallen trees, or out with our baby chainsaw trying to clear out from the oncoming disaster. Just thought you should know.


	15. Death of a Merchant

**Part Fifteen: Death of a Merchant**

As autumn passed, the twenty-two-year-old began to get impatient. He had been in Venice for a year, and though he had learned much he felt he had not _done_ much, and much like before when he was hunting down the Pazzi conspirators, impatient energy began to fill him. He fought the anxiety bravely, remembering all too clearly the price for his impatience, but as December rolled around the old dreams of the gallows began hitting him, and not for the first time he spent his nights in the arms of women, trying to forget.

It was Rosa who recognized what was happening to him, and one night pulled him aside before he went out prowling for a new bed.

"What's happening?" she asked, her usual flirtatious nature missing.

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing," she said in a low voice. "I know that look. You're trying to forget something."

"What would you know?" Ezio hissed.

"I know that my mother was a whore, and the nobleman who made me and Ugo refused to take us in when she died," she said in a flat, toneless voice. "I know that every spring I have to throw a party, get as drunk as possible, and forget for a few nights that she died. Sometimes it's with a man, sometimes it's crying on Antonio's shoulder, and sometimes it's running as fast as I can through the streets."

Ezio blinked, not at all expecting such a confession from the prickly and tough-talking thief.

"We thieves," she said. "We have a pact. We tell each other our darkest, deepest secrets and sins. Everybody knows everything here. We are bound not to tell each other's secrets to anyone, guards or otherwise. What are you trying to forget?"

"... The death of my family," Ezio said slowly, feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

Rosa's eyes widened slightly, realizing just how similar they were, and grabbed his wrist, dragging him back to the enclosed courtyard and the thieves as they had their dinner. "Ugo!" she called out, barging through several men before forcing Ezio to sit down around a cookpot next to her suspicious brother. "Tell him about the time you were seven."

Ugo turned bright red. "_Rosa!_" he said in a strangled voice.

"He needs to hear it."

"He does _not_! _No one_ does!"

"And yet," Franco, another thief said, "we all _do_."

Everyone around the cookpot started needling Ugo, and soon he told the embarrassing story of when he was seven, their mother still alive, and he, wanting to chase away a nightmare, walked in on her during her work, causing the client to startle so badly he pissed all over his own clothes, ruining the finery. Franco talked about his three sisters, their obsession with finding men and how he had been roped into helping obtain them, extolling their beauty even though he thought they were the ugliest girls in the entirety of Venice. Rosa talked about Ugo and diaper training, and Bianca shared the horror of birthing her first child, locked in a cell and surrounded by men who had no idea why she was screaming and bleeding, her laughing through the entire recitation.

"Tell us a story," Rosa said, "about your family."

And slowly, hesitantly, Ezio talked about Federico and his first month as a banker, how bored he was and how he had hidden a sack of money just to make things interesting. He talked about Petruccio and chess, and how everybody bent over backwards for the boy. He talked about Claudia, staunchly protected by Federico and him, and how temperamental she was with their influence; he told of his beating of Duccio, and how Giovanni had reacted when learning he had deliberately started a fight with Vieri de' Pazzi. He talked about his mother's bakery and the smell of bread - _proper_ bread - and voices and haggling in the morning. He realized, with no small amount of surprise, that he had not talked about his family since the gallows. Neither he nor Claudia could bring themselves to talk about Federico and Petruccio, and Giovanni was silently taboo because of their mother. It felt... it felt...

It felt... good.

Rosa seemed to smile, dawn had arrived, and she stood up, swaying slightly from the wine and touched his shoulder.

"You've remembered," she said, "Now I'll help you forget."

They spent two days fucking each other senseless.

Afterward, Antonio called him to his office, looking out over the model of his city, and leveled a glare at him.

"Rosa and Ugo, those two are very dear to me," he said slowly, his eyes narrow and calculating. "They've been with me the longest, and I'll be damned if I see anything come to them."

"I know," Ezio said, nodding his head. "She was... helping me through a difficult time."

The older thief blinked, realization spreading across his pale face. "I'd forgotten," he said. "Giovanni died in winter... Oh, Ezio."

"It's alright, _Ser_ Magianis," the Florentine said, raising a hand to forestall the comfort. "I'm... better now. Claudia's birthday is tomorrow and I need to write her a letter."

The aristocratic thief nodded, understanding written all over his face. He fingered his mustache, saying, "Write your letter, then. But Ezio," he added, his face serious, "for that kind of grief you need more than one outlet. Something other than vaginas, at any rate."

Those were some of his mother's last words, and they shook Ezio down to his core, so much that his hand was shaking when he wrote Claudia, explaining what was surging through him and wondering if his sister talked about their brothers to anyone, and if it would help her as it helped him. He told a few stories, taking several pages and hoping it would help her, and asked her to share them with Maria, maybe even Mario, their uncle knew very little about their respective childhoods, and after all his generosity it was the least either of them could do.

The next day he was banging on Leonardo's door, surprising the blond with his visit, and asking if he could be taught a little more about painting.

Leonardo, much like Rosa, was perceptive, and gave Ezio everything he needed, for once the Florentine assassin did most of the talking, trying to stretch out his canvas and show what his brothers and father looked like to Leonardo, frustrated when something came out wrong or a line didn't look right. Leonardo helped as he could, instructing on facial proportions and then talking a little bit about chiaroscuro - the study of lights and shadows that generally went right over Ezio's head until the thirty-year-old started demonstrating it. Between the two of them, Ezio was able to get a passable sketch of his family, and Leonardo added Ezio, Claudia, and Maria to it - infinitely more detailed than the dead.

"Ezio, what kind of background would you like?"

"What?"

"For this painting. What kind of background would you like? The hills of Monteriggioni? Your old villa? A backdrop of Firenze?"

Blinking, Ezio asked, "What are you talking about?"

"I want to do this portrait," Leonardo explained. "For you to look at, at this time of year. I want to help you."

Ezio was struck dumb for several minutes, staring at the painter, before giving a slightly broken laugh and touching the man's shoulder. "_Grazie_, my friend. You've no idea what that means to me. But... I think this is one painting I need to do myself."

"... As you wish," Leonardo said, tugging at his ever growing beard. "But please, let me know when I may be of service."

"I will."

It wasn't long after that, in spring, that Antonio deemed his thieves set to do more than just pickpocketing. They set out into the wealthy San Polo district and tested their skills. Ezio was only passable at best, if he stuck around a square or street too long people began to notice their missing purses, and some would harass him if they caught sight of him. Venetian guards, too, proved to be much better trained the Florentine or Tuscan guards; almost all of them wore full armor, spears or pikes or heavy axes or broadswords. The thieves, both Antonio and Ezio were pleased to note, were fast on their feet after over a year of training, and the heavily armored guards were hard pressed to actually _hit_ anyone.

Ezio picked up very quickly, however, that while Antonio's thieves knew how to run, they seemed to know nothing about escape.

"Why do they always run in straight lines?" he asked.

Antonio sighed at that. "Try though I might, fear is a powerful motivator. A thief wants to live very badly, and will dash to safety literally without thought."

"But that's why it's so difficult for you and your men to sneak out," Ezio said, "Everyone knows that you are based somewhere on the docks, and so if a thief is running they need only position their archers. It is likely why the assault on Emilio's Palazzo was such a failure."

"Hm," Antonio said, "Another delay to our next attack. They _have_ to know how to escape without running in a straight line. Rosa and Ugo, they know it, but even they can't instill it in my men. Even you couldn't. Who else would?"

Ezio thought a moment, before a wide grin split his face. "A fox might know a thing or two," he said smoothly.

And so he sent another letter to Claudia, to forward to Mario to forward to La Volpe, for assistance in training idiots about straight lines.

To his surprise, not only did Volpe arrive with the summer thunderstorms, but so did Mario, crushing his nephew in a powerful hug that lifted him in the air. "Ah, _nipote_, it's good to see you are thriving!"

"I don't know how 'thriving' I am after _that_," Ezio coughed, trying to get his breath back. "Uncle, I'm twenty-three!"

"And still my nephew!" Mario said, slapping the Florentine's back with a gruff laugh. "Claudia sends her best, and news that Vincenzo is doing well in his new art shop. Santino wants to know how your armor is holding up, that sour miser Adler says to tell you that Italian bankers are all idiots except for you and Claudia, and Orazio wants to know when you'll next give him gold. The only one in Monteriggioni not asking after you is the tailor, though I suspect that's only because you haven't really talked to him yet. We all miss you, _nipote_."

"... Even Mother?"

"Even Maria," Mario said with a sad smile. "Claudia reads all your letters to her, and you should have seen her face when she read all those childhood memories you talked about. It was the most expression I've ever seen in her since..."

Ezio smiled, slightly, glad for the news.

The first thing to be done was arrange a race in the thick summer air. Ezio, pacing himself, lost miserably to Volpe - to be expected since _he_ didn't have to worry about armor bringing him down with the heat - but he put Mario to shame and tied with Antonio and Rosa, the female thief huffing at the very idea.

"I let you win, _figlio di puttana_."

"Of course..."

Then Volpe drew a dagger and started chasing the awed thieves, using throwing knives to make them duck left and right in shrieking terror, before getting them all bunched together in a corner. "And that," he said with a sly voice, "Is why you never run in straight lines."

The summer's work was very hard on the thieves, with powerhouses like the Auditore and Volpe and Antonio overseeing them, and then Rosa and Ugo - the only ones who could escape the four - shouted swears and threats at them when they couldn't learn what they needed. But, as the putrid air of Venice _finally_ started to dry out, the thunderstorms fading in frequency, they were at last good enough that Antonio began pulling Ezio and the others into his office, outlining his next assault on the Palazzo.

"I wish I could stay longer," Mario said, looking over the plan, "but I'm off to Forli. Lorenzo de' Medici wants me to keep an eye on Girolamo Riario, and I'm one to agree with him."

"Give my regards to his wife, Caterina," Ezio said with a smile.

"Oh, my," Rosa said in exaggerated tones. "Don't tell me you're _cheating_."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Ezio replied in an equally flirtatious tone. "But can the same be said for you?"

"Make it stop..." Ugo groaned.

"Things are doubly hard now," Mario said. "Mehmet of the Ottomans just died, and Bayezid II is the new Sultan. Lorenzo is sending a few men over to make friends, the last thing we need is a war with the east."

"Don't let people here in Venezia hear you say that," Antonio said with a smirk, "We _hate_ the Ottomans and want our territory back."

Volpe and Mario both laughed and bid their farewells.

For the next month Ezio, Rosa, and Ugo stalked the Palazzo, taking note of guard patrols and strength, noting shift changes and tracing lines to scale for the next assault on the Palazzo. By November, they were ready to strike, and slowly, very slowly, Ezio began to feel anticipation. After almost two years in Venice he would have his chance with Emilio Barbarigo, and one more name would be off his list. It wasn't the impatient pulse of when he'd tried to kill Jacopo de' Pazzi, it was the solid sense of anticipation: death was about to reign down on a Templar, and vengeance would be had. Also, Venice commerce would settle down, tradesmen would not have to worry about renting space or paying dues out of their profits. Barbarigo's death would also be a boon to Venice.

They crept out at sunset, traversing the rooftops and making their way east, to the _palazzo_. Ugo gave the signal, and the thieves distracted the guards, Ezio guarding from above, but no sooner had the thieves began to move in that the guards stopped chasing the first pair, turning around and charging the startled forces, and archers appeared from places they _weren't_ supposed to be, and Ezio was suddenly forced to run all over the place to take out the archers.

It was, in short, a disaster. The guards knew exactly where the thieves were stationed, every one of them, and it was a sudden mad dash through the streets of Venice in an eerie mimicry of their first assault, dashing left and right, going up and down the facades of buildings, jerking from one direction to the next, backtracking and sidestepping to keep the guards confused as they began trickling back to the docks.

Worse, less than half of them arrived.

"Ugo," Rosa said, circling around the well anxiously. "Where is Ugo? That bastard is too good to be caught..."

"He's probably fine," Antonio said, but his pale face was even paler, and his aristocratic demeanor was almost completely missing, his thoughts racing. Ezio kept a lookout at the docks, two or three gondolas bearing thieves came back, but none afterwards and none of them held Rosa's precious little brother.

Then,

"_Ugo!_"

"Rosa, I'm fine, I'm-"

"No you're not, _proco puttani_, look at your arm! Get Bianca!"

Ezio came in to see Ugo being shoved to a table by Rosa, blood soaking his arm and swearing as his sister roughly handled him. Ezio darted in as Antonio ripped the shirt, inspecting the damage. Stitches were needed, and Rosa was beside herself, swearing and cursing and shouting before Antonio roughly took her by the arm and led her out, ordering Ezio to help with the surgery.

The next morning, late, Ezio emerged from his room, still tired, but wanting answers as much as Antonio, who, like Rosa, had camped out in front of Ugo's room. Ezio was back to waiting. He'd been waiting the past two _years_ to kill Emilio Barbarigo, and now it would be delayed _again_. Answers would be good.

Antonio stirred as Ezio stalked down the hall, though Rosa remained asleep, likely having stayed up the latest keeping an eye on her brother.

The Venetian nobleman nodded to the Florentine nobleman and both silently slipped into Ugo's room.

Ugo was bare-chested, bruises littering his chest an arms and looking like dark holes in the candlelight. Antonio didn't care for this and whipped open the curtains, letting in more light and making the bruising seem less ominous. Ugo grunted at the intrusion of light almost instantly, attempting to raise an arm to block it out before hissing in pain and grunting.

The arm, which Ezio himself had stitched the previous night, bore a long, deep gash, from shoulder down to elbow, to say nothing of the other nicks and scratches, including a deep cut on his forearm. It was not the damage that Rosa had suffered with the arrow in the leg, but it was extensive and would take time to heal.

"_Cazzo_," Ugo grunted, attempting to sit up and realizing all the bruising he'd suffered.

Antonio ran a hand over Ugo's head in a fatherly gesture and Ezio stayed back, allowing them the moment and wishing his own father were still alive.

"Ugo," Antonio said softly. "What happened last night? We were all worried."

The young thief grimaced, still trying to find a position that was comfortable, but finally gave up. "I had a thought."

"Seeing your current state," Antonio replied, "I rather doubt it."

Ugo scowled severely, but continued. "It was strange that the guards turned after starting to chase us. They _shouldn't_ have known we were coming, but they did. All those archers at just the spots to see all our men. Knowing that it was a distraction. Something just didn't smell right about it."

Ezio held back a sarcastic comment about the smell of the waters of Venice and let the thief keep talking.

"After I had lost my pursuers, I backtracked," Ugo attempted to shrug before hissing at the bruises it pulled at. "I followed the _figlios di puttani_ back."

Antonio sucked in a breath. "You weren't spotted?"

Ugo offered a feral grin. "No. Archers watching roofs, patrols on the streets, no one looking at balconies."

Ezio chuckled. It seemed his lessons had done some good after all.

"Our men are all alive, Antonio. Arrested and imprisoned, but _alive_."

The news settled around them for a moment, full and happy and seeming to brighten the very room.

"Alive," Antonio breathed, sitting heavily. "Alive. We may yet win this war. We need to break them out... We can regroup..."

"Yes!" Ugo nodded enthused. "We've not been beaten yet."

"Save for the fact that news of our attack was leaked," Ezio reminded them stepping forward. "That must be dealt with first else any attempt we make to free our friends will merely result in more friends in jail."

Antonio's happy face disappeared in an instant. "Very true. We must think on this." But the thief guild head simply turned and smiled to Ugo. "First thing's first, you _heal_."

"_Merda_," Ugo grunted.

Antonio and Ezio walked out, making Rosa stir.

"_Bastardi,_" she grunted at them. "Why didn't you tell me Ugo was awake!" She quickly darted into Ugo's room and thus the battle of cursing began.

Ezio and Antonio both shook their heads and headed out to the courtyard.

They walked together in silence, out to the streets of Venice, packed, as always, and strode together for a time.

At last, Antonio sighed. "It seems Emilio has turned some of my own men against me."

"Bribery and blackmail, is it?"

"Most likely." Antonio rubbed his face tiredly. "We cannot strike until the traitors are dealt with. I doubt they were arrested and are probably somewhere in this district; keeping tabs on us and reporting back to Emilio."

Ezio nodded. "I think I need to stay away from the docks for now," he said quietly. "Most of your thieves assume me to be a thief from Florence who washed ashore here and I'd rather it kept that way."

"_Si_," Antonio agreed reluctantly. "For the work you are here for, you'd best not be known for who you are. Only Ugo, Rosa and I know your true purpose."

"Have Rosa at the Frari once in a while. I'll send word to you through her."

"Consider it done," Antonio replied with a hint of his usual suave smile. "That girl could use the chance to learn how to blend in with more respectable folk."

Ezio chuckled. "Don't worry about your traitors," he said, stepping into the shadows of an alley. "I'll take care of them."

Ezio spent the next month, December, establishing himself as a Florentine tourist visiting fair Venice, in the southern part of the district, staying far away from the docks. With Leonardo now in Milan to work for Ludovico Sforza, and the thieves knowing he had visited Leonardo's shop, he thought it best to find a tavern in a part of the district that the thieves guild usually didn't frequent.

It wasn't a pleasant month, but then December never seemed to be for Ezio. He spent a fair bit of time with his easel out in the streets, trying to paint that portrait of his family, but never seeming to get any part of it right. To his horror, Ezio found he was forgetting what his father and brothers looked like, how his father's voice rolled, Federico's laughs, Petruccio's quiet coughs. They were slipping from his memory.

Time, it seemed, moved on no matter what.

He also spent time up atop the Frari, thinking hard and planning how to go about to smoke out the traitors, and how to break out the imprisoned thieves.

Once he had a plan in mind, Ezio looked at it from every angle he could think of on how it could go wrong.

The first priority was to get the thieves out of jail. Prison was often a good place to die, as inmates were interrogated with torture and could die of infections or starvation. Ezio couldn't afford to let them linger incarcerated. But if the guild here wasn't safe, the question was where to put them.

So Ezio sent a letter to Claudia, explaining the dilemma and his plans, instructing her that Orazio would be using more of their gold because he wanted a small thieves guild building for his escapees to hide. He also thought a place for courtesans would be a good idea, and asked her thoughts on it, as Paola had helped them so much in their flight from Florence, a place for her girls to hide might be a good repayment.

Ugo met him in front of the Frari one evening, his arm still bound in a sling, once Ezio received word from Claudia that it was already underway and that she had rules for any thieves coming to Monteriggioni. Rules Ezio agreed with and added to.

"Are you up to this?" Ezio asked quietly as they sat in the square in front of the Frari.

"_Bastardo_," Ugo grunted and scowled. "I can do my part. I want our men back too, you know."

Ezio sighed, shaking his head. "They can't stay at the docks. I'll be sending your men away to a safe place."

"I know, I _know_," the young man growled. "I just don't have to _like_ it."

To this, the young Assassin chuckled. "Come on, then. Show me where your friends were taken."

With the setting sun casting long shadows and glittering on the water, the archers above had difficulty seeing as the two approached a small guardhouse.

Ezio frowned. "I doubt they're all still here," he whispered. "We lost two dozen men, that guardhouse can't hold that many men for an extended period of time."

"I know," Ugo hissed back. "But our men may know where to look next."

Ezio nodded. "Best go to your gondola. I'll meet you at the Rialto Bridge."

"I'd rather help you free our men."

Ezio poked Ugo in his still healing stitches.

"Aargh! _Bastardo_, you've made your point!" And the young thief melted back into the shadows.

Ezio stayed in the alley, assessing the building. Such a small guardhouse likely only had a half dozen people, most out on patrol. So Ezio ripped his sleeve, used his dagger to cut his arm and let it bleed into his shirt. Now he had an excuse to get in.

He entered the guardhouse, calling out for help. "Some _figlio di puttana_ just took my purse!" he growled and one of the guards stepped forward. Ezio noted that none of them were wearing armor. Once the approaching guard was close enough, Ezio grabbed his head and brought it down to his knee. The other two stood shocked for a second, not having expected someone coming for help to attack and Ezio used that to his advantage as he leapt forward, shoving a man hard to the wall and then punching him precisely in the throat, leaving him gasping for breath. The third was just starting to pull out his sword and Ezio kicked him between the legs, sending the poor man's scream of pain up an octave before bringing both of his fists to the man's ears to further disorient him.

The keys were conveniently on a peg on the wall and Ezio grabbed them and released the iron bars that kept the inmates captive. Most of the inmates were thieves he recognized, though one seemed to be more of a beggar. Out of caution, Ezio looked at them with his special sight and noted that none bore the red flicker of an enemy.

"Follow me," he said quietly.

"No need to even say so," one of them grunted, stumbling out of the cell with various bruises and the starting signs of malnutrition.

They were down the street and melding into an alley, Ezio explaining where they were going so that the four knew where Ugo was waiting with the gondola when an outraged shout came from the guardhouse.

Ezio turned and saw a large hulking brute of a guard in full armor racing as fast as his heavy armaments would allow.

"Go! I'll meet you later!"

The thieves dispersed, using the training both Ezio and Volpe had given them and dashed away. Ezio pulled out his sword and deflected the brute's heavy broadsword, drawing him further into the alley and away from the evening onlookers. Ezio stayed on defense, knowing that finding the chink in that heavy armor would take a larger space than he had available in the narrow alley, and anonymity was his friend. Still, the confines also limited the brute, who couldn't swing as widely. Ezio's sword was soon knocked away and, unarmed, Ezio kept backstepping the heavy swings. On swing went wide and stuck in some crates and Ezio took his chance to dart forward, kicking the arms holding the sword, and punching them at the elbow to make the brute let go with a grunt and Ezio took the broadsword as his own.

He grunted with the effort to swing it, but he'd been training for years under Ulderico, who insisted Ezio be familiar with every type of weapon he could think of. One swing knocked the brute off his feet and the other came down right into the stomach, the momentum cutting through the armor like cheese.

Ezio dropped the broadsword and reclaimed his own sword before taking off to the rooftops and balconies.

At the Rialto Bridge, Ezio waited behind a travel station, watching the late night travelers rushing about to get home or heading out to some sort of party. There didn't seem to be an influx of guards, so Ezio assumed things were going well.

"Pssst!" came a hiss from the river below.

Ezio easily stood and leapt over the railing, landing gracefully on the gondola.

One of the escaped thieves then reached up, grabbed his half-cape, and flung him off balance and into the cold smelly canal.

Ezio came up sputtering. "_Merda_! What was that for?" he spat, climbing back up to the gondola.

"Leaving _Venezia_!" Lazzoro grunted. "We can't even check in with Antonio? And _why_ are we leaving?"

Ezio sighed. "Some of Antonio's men are spies, but we don't know who is who yet," he explained. "Rather than letting Emilio Barbarigo know that Antonio is gaining strength, it would be best if you weren't in the city for a while."

"So you're sending us to _Firenze_?"

"_No_," Ezio growled, "I'm sending you to Monteriggioni. I have a villa there and you will be _safe_. Once we've routed out the traitors, you can come back here. _Then_ we can take Emilio down."

One of the thieves, one Ezio couldn't remember the name of but couldn't be older than fifteen, said quietly, "Venezia's the only home I know..."

Ezio put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "It always will be. Think of it as a vacation. At least until we know it's safe for you here." Ezio decided not to mention the training Ulderico would likely be putting them through.

"Fine," Lazzoro spat. "But don't expect us to care for your saltless bread!"

To this, at least, Ezio could chuckle. "Just don't steal from any of our townsfolk. Or rather, if you do, give it back. I'm paying for you to be there, so keep your skills sharp, just don't take from the taxpayers that are _paying_ for you to be there."

"Then we won't have any fun there..."

Ezio laughed. "Oh, if you want a challenge, my sister Claudia has been saying how a band of thieves has been terrorizing the countryside. Why not steal from the thieves?"

The four sort of grunted together, which Ezio took as assent and then dragged them up to the streets and took them to the tavern he was staying at where he had a doctor waiting to check on them. He dressed them properly so they didn't look so unsavory and send them on their way. They'd shared what the guards had said on likely places that their fellow thieves had likely been taken to, and Ezio started to check out the locations.

The next breakout went along the same lines as the first, only Ezio took a horse for escape this time as it was just standing outside, waiting. These thieves _also_ didn't like the idea of leaving, but went along with it.

Antonio met Ezio one evening for dinner and smiled as he heard of more men that were safe.

"I can't thank you enough, Ezio," he said, sipping his wine. "Knowing my men are safe and recuperating takes a great burden off of me."

Ezio waved the praise away. "How is Rosa coming along with finding the traitors?"

To this, the noble thief sighed, his sharp tenor dropping. "She's been with all of them almost from the beginning. She trusts them and can't seem to tell who's lying or acting suspiciously."

"I think it's time I meet all your thieves again," Ezio said quietly. "Have Ugo take me through everyone. As an unbiased eye, I might see what Rosa can't."

Antonio nodded. "Best to wait a bit, though. Avoid suspicion that way. I swear, I don't know how we haven't found posters of you around the district yet."

Ezio merely smiled.

Thus, a few weeks later, Ezio met with Ugo as the heat of summer pressed down on them. Ezio walked without his armor this time, not seeking a fight, but just information, and didn't want the added heat as he was going to be ushered from one den of thieves to another for the next few days.

The purpose of Ezio's visits was given as "checking in" on how they were doing with their training and Ezio took delight in racing them without his armor and beating them even more soundly. However, as he met group after group of thieves, he studied them all with his Eagle Vision. As he did, he noticed no reds of an enemy, but he did start to notice a whitish-blue flicker around them. Looking at Ugo showed similar coloring, so Ezio could only assume that it was because they were allies.

It was reassuring.

Still, he spoke to each thief for a bit, "catching up" and trying to sense if anything was off. It wasn't until the first evening that Ezio finally found a thief he didn't trust. Ugo, who had been stuck with Ezio for almost a half year now on little excursions to free thieves and scout out guardhouses and such, noticed when Ezio was cool and careful with certain people.

"How do you _know_?" Ugo asked, shocked when Ezio mentioned Pompeo was likely a traitor.

Ezio only smiled. "I see things a little differently than most," he said with great irony.

Once he had a list, he was again sitting with Antonio for dinner, in a different tavern. Both agreed that Ezio couldn't just start killing the traitors. The other thieves had been working with these people for years and at least deserved some proof before taking them out.

Which meant that Ezio and Antonio had to set up the traitors and expose them. In the middle of all this, Ezio kept breaking out thieves with Ugo and occasionally Rosa when she wasn't trying to swallow how many people she trusted were now traitors.

The year passed and Ezio was kept busy taking care of all of this. It wasn't until late the following summer that all the traitors were finally exposed and killed, giving Ezio leave to finally call back the thieves from Monteriggioni and focus more thoroughly on finishing freeing the thieves still captive.

In September, word finally came of some interesting events in Rome that had Ezio listening to the heralds and writing Mario for more information. It seemed that Sixtus had finally died, but electing a new Pope had proven difficult. Supporters of Sixtus faced rebellion and looting, and there was some turmoil even in Venice. Forli, apparently, was hit particularly hard and Girolamo's residence was sacked and almost destroyed. It seemed husband and wife of Forli agreed on this being a bad thing and while Girolamo took up a strategic position outside the city, Caterina Sforza took her men, and rode (while seven months pregnant, the rumor went) and held Castel Sant'Angelo. This, of course, prevented the College of Cardinals to meet and vote for a new Pope, which led to more chaos in Venice and Italy in general.

Girolamo was bought off by the College of Cardinals, being given money in compensation for the damages and a military title of Captain-General of the Church. Caterina was not so easily bought off, and stayed in the Castel Sant'Angelo until her own husband took position against her and she was to surrender in late October.

Once the drama of Rome was settled, Ezio had freed all the thieves and focus was placed once more on recuperating and planning on how to get to Emilio once again.

Winter proved difficult for healing, as the cold weather brought colds and illnesses that made infections. Ezio knew how to stitch wounds and the basics for healing plants, but this was beyond his knowledge and he felt useless. The timing of it, of course, coincided with remembering his family swinging from the gallows, and Rosa helped him with his worries. He spent the cold days with the portrait of his family, trying again to get it right.

Spring came and Ezio worked once more putting the thieves through their paces. Antonio had found some new recruits and, after two years of teaching, Ezio was doing much better at showing them the ins and outs of climbing and running. He could even show them a thing or two on thieving, as Ezio had kept these skills up while he was living at the tavern in the southern part of the district, rather than asking Claudia for more money. Antonio and Rosa and Ugo still surpassed him, but Ezio liked to think he wasn't as inept at picking pockets as he had been.

The warmer weather also brought the new armor Ezio had ordered from a local blacksmith that Antonio trusted. It was solid metal, much like that of the brutes he'd seen about the district, helping Ezio to blend in and also to have better protection against said brutes.

It was interesting, getting used to the heavier armor with the heavier heat as it kept rolling in, especially as it gleamed so well and reflected _more_ heat to him. But Ezio once more found a good pace for himself and even in the heavier armor, he was still faster than Rosa and Ugo.

"That's just not _fair_," Ugo grumbled.

Still, Ugo grabbed Ezio aside in early August. At the docks there was at least a cool breeze from the water and the sun was slowly sinking as afternoon approached evening. "You know of our plan?"

"Yes," Ezio replied. "Antonio and I have been going over it all day."

"Good. Then it's time to do some clothes shopping, yes?"

Ezio laughed. "You Venetians and your clothes..."

But they went about gathering some of the thieves, mixing the experienced with some of the new recruits to give them proper practice, and headed out into the city. There had been a shipment earlier that day and the new uniforms were now at a few guardhouses, waiting for pickup by the archers that would rotate in that morning.

Getting the clothes was easy. Ugo would have thieves and distract the guards, flying away at great speed and, thankfully, not in a straight line. Ezio would then take his pair of thieves and loot the place and then send one of the thieves back to Antonio with the armor and uniforms.

It was a long night, trading out the tiring thieves with fresh ones, but it was good work done.

September was approaching, after all, and it was time to act.

The morning of the eleventh started off with a light rain, but by afternoon the sun was out and shining. Ezio was pleased that the temperatures and humidity were slowly dropping, though they still had a random sweltering day. He'd spent most of the wet morning double and triple checking everything around the Seta, seeing guards in the same positions they'd been observing. Nothing seemed amiss and none of the guards seemed to realize that they were going to be attacked.

He made his way back to Antonio's headquarters, knocking politely before opening the door.

Antonio looked up with a modest smile, he, Rosa, and Ugo looking over the blocks the thief master used as a map. "Please, enter! Your good work has restored us to our former strength, Ezio," he thanked the young Assassin. "We are ready to strike."

Ezio nodded. "We've waited for this for some time. Just tell me what needs to be done, and I'll see that it is."

"You'll approach from above, under the cover of sunset," Antonio gestured to his block map of the district. "Emilio has posted archers around the _palazzo_. Kill them, but do so quietly. As they fall, my men shall replace them. Ugo will take care of the ground patrols."

Ezio looked to Ugo, who was staring intently at the position he'd be taking. In the past four years, he'd learned that Ugo was more than competent and had keen eyes for escape routes, even better than his sister, but Rosa overshadowed him in personality so strongly that none ever seemed to notice. "Be wary of those brutes," he cautioned. "They'll be difficult to take down."

"_Bastardo_, do you think I've not been paying attention to you beating me to the ground with a lance? I can handle it," the young thief grumbled.

Antonio cut in before Ugo started his battle of curses. "When you've finished with the archers, we'll regroup in front of this building here, and discuss next steps."

"Not a problem. I'll take care of the archers and return to you," Ezio nodded. "The thieves I'm working with...?"

"Are already on the rooftops," Rosa drawled. "Antonio and I will be keeping the police nearby busy while you replace the Seta's guards."

Antonio gave a final nod. "Then it's settled. Good luck."

"You as well," Ezio shook hands with each of them, though Rosa snuck in a kiss, and they headed out.

Rosa and Antonio headed out to the streets, Ugo down to the gondola to go meet his own men. Ezio climbed the scaffolding as Rosa had taught him and scaled to the roofs were a dozen disguised thieves were waiting. These were the thieves that Ezio had been working with since stealing the armor and clothes the previous month. Every day he'd been drilling them with bows, since they would be his cover as he infiltrated the heavily guarded _palazzo_.

They all nodded and took off. The sun was starting to sink heavily behind them, blinding the archers on the roofs as they approached. Ezio had also chosen one of his brighter hoods and robes, its faded golden orange color blending with the sky around them, yet light enough to not be spotted against the pale façade of the gothic Seta.

As they approached the roofs across the small canal that surrounded the Palazzo della Seta, they flowed over each archer they came across like a wave. One archer against a dozen thieves and one Assassin didn't really stand a chance and was never even able to call out a warning. Once an archer was down, one of Ezio's men replaced him and they disappeared down to the balconies and cross beams to stay hidden as they approached the next archer. The sun was gone from the horizon when they finally took the last archer down, and Ezio wiped his forehead, grateful for a cool breeze that was swiftly bringing down the temperature.

"Take care," he said, before climbing back down to the streets.

"Well done, Ezio," Antonio smiled, not a hair out of place despite running the police ragged. "Everything is going according to plan. The way to the _palazzo_ is clear now."

"But not the building itself," Ezio commented, noticing that Ugo had not joined them yet. "Emilio's guards still patrol its border."

"Not any more," a voice panted behind them. Ugo jogged up, a trace of blood trailing down his face and a new gash to cross the stitches from the _last_ time he'd gotten hurt along his forearm. "My men patrol the grounds now. The only guards left are those inside the Seta herself."

"_Bene_," Ezio nodded. "And you did very well."

Ugo merely grunted in response.

Rosa smiled, hugging her brother's uninjured arm, already dressed in her stolen archer uniform. "And when it comes time to storm the place," she said to Ezio, "remember what I've taught you."

"Take care, Ezio," Antonio grasped his arm firmly. "We await word of your success."

The young Assassin nodded, and slipped into the shadows.

It was a bizarre redo of his first day in Venice, in a way. That first day guards had lined the roofs, the entries, the grounds, everywhere, and now it was all thieves. Rosa had rushed into her climb, knowing time was against her, and now Ezio took his time, tracing his route to the roof carefully and methodically, so as not to draw attention from any stray guards Ugo's men didn't take care of.

It felt good to remove the stain of such a horrid disaster. One that had been repeated when the thieves had been arrested.

Once on the roof Ezio creeped his way forward on his stomach, staying low so that he could get an idea of the layout and possible escape routes. If he'd learned anything over these past four years, it had been patience. A well thought-out plan like this evening's was key in such guarded places. The archers on the roof still Emilio's men were yawning. They wouldn't switch shifts for another hour, to Ezio's benefit.

The courtyard below was rectangular and pure gothic, from what Ezio could tell from all the information Leonardo could spout about anything at any given time. Ornate details seemed to cover every surface, though there seemed to be an eastern influence in the arches, with the lions that symbolized Venice roaring out of much of the detail work. Down below, along the back of the courtyard, were steps to a gated door that lead to the Grand Canal behind the Seta, and Ezio saw a boat standing by with an oarsman.

Someone was visiting it seemed.

So Ezio stayed still and opened his ears as much as he could. Emilio, if he was any kind of host, would escort his guest to the gondola, which would be his best chance.

"Your little house of cards is crumbling, Emilio," a voice sighed, a smarmy tenor that seemed to drip oil.

"A minor setback," Emilio replied, a voice Ezio remembered criticizing Jacopo de' Pazzi before the Spaniard killed him. It was still the gruff baritone with a cruel lilt. "It will be dealt with. This poor fool Antonio and his thieves..."

"Never mind them!" the smarmy tenor hissed. Ezio narrowed his eyes and could just see them descending the stairs that lined the courtyard. "It's the Assassin you should be worried about!"

Emilio actually paused, his face paling in the moonlight. "Why? Is...is he in Venezia?"

"He's been here for weeks!" the smarmy tenor almost shouted. He looked very official. A government worker of some kind? "How could you be so blind?!"

Ezio held in a chuckle. Weeks was it? Ezio may have been recognized when he'd stolen the uniforms, but he had been here for _years_. Clearly the Templars didn't know where to look.

"Unlike you, I've been busy!" Emilio retorted. "Someone had to unite the commerce here. Then we'll have money _flowing_ in."

"And yet, you still have hold outs," the official growled. "You only have, on a good day, two thirds of the merchants in the district. Those that don't wish to follow you simply do their business away from the marketplace."

"Enough with the barbs!" Emilio waved their argument away and resumed walking down to the courtyard. "What is it you want, Carlo?"

Ah, a name.

"_Maestro_ has called a meeting," the official replied. "Three days from now at Santo Stefano."

There was only one person that a Templar would call _Maestro_. Ezio would have to be at the Santo Stefano when that meeting occurred. That only gave him three days. Not much time... He'd have to rush it, the exact _opposite_ of how he'd been spending the last four years.

"Very well. I'll be there," Emilio nodded.

"Assuming you still live," Carlo rubbed his gray beard and looking skeptical. "If you want my advice, I'd find a less conspicuous place to wait. Seta is a target now."

"Seta is a fortress!" Emilio countered sharply.

"If you say so," Carlo didn't look convinced as he stepped to his gondola. "Goodbye, Emilio."

The iron gates shut and Carlo's oarsman started to work, disappearing from Ezio's sight. He waited a few more minutes, not wishing to alarm this Carlo person that Emilio Barbarigo was about to die.

The merchant of Venice, however, was pacing his courtyard, startling to look worried. "_Cazzo_, what if he's right? You!" he pointed to one of his guards, "Call my boat, it should be close. When it arrives, load these crates and prepare to sail. I'll be right back." Emilio started up the stairs, likely heading to pack things, still mumbling to himself. Ezio had heard enough and eased over the roof and dropped down to an iron lantern beam, watching the lantern sway slightly. He gauged the distance, adjusted his minimal footing, and leapt.

The Barbarigo merchant didn't even cry out as Ezio crouched over him. "Do not be afraid."

"I feel no fear, assassin," Emilio whispered. "Only regret. I sought unity... stability... order."

Ezio shook his head. "At too great a cost."

"Progress demands sacrifice."

"... I take no joy in this, but I see no other way. _Requiescat in pace_."

Emilio breathed his last and Ezio closed his eyes. Behind him, the guards who had stood in shock at his sudden appearance from on high were starting to organize. Ezio stood, pulling out his sword and ready for a fight, but arrows started to rain down, causing more chaos as Ezio dived to a more protected position and thanking the thieves for paying attention to his training them with a bow. The last of the guards soon fell or gave up, holding up their hands in surrender.

Rosa appeared on the roofline. "Sorry!" she called down. "We couldn't resist. You wouldn't have left us anything!"

With nimble feet, despite the heavier armor she wore, she climbed down and ran up to kiss him in excitement. "Come! Let's open the gate for Antonio."

Ezio chuckled and followed her, unbolting the door and letting it swing open in a grand fashion for its new owner.

Antonio smiled and stepped in with arms outspread and a large smile across his face. "Seta has fallen and Emilio is no more! All thanks to you, Ezio!" he grasped Ezio's shoulder warmly. He turned to the thieves. "Go! Tear down Emilio's banners! Return what he has stolen from the people. They've been waiting long enough."

Walking further into the courtyard, Antonio took a moment in the moonlight to bask in what would be their new home. "Tell me, Ezio. How can I repay you for your service?"

"Money's always nice," Ezio said with pure Florentine irony.

Antonio laughed, slapping his back. "Easy enough, I've a whole _palazzo_ of finances now. What else?"

Ezio paused. He'd been exploring the city a fair bit over the past four years, but he didn't have the time to look for what he really needed. "There are two things I've been keeping an eye out for. If your thieves ever see something here in Venezia, I'd like to know."

"Consider it done! Truly, is that all?"

"Emilio was meeting with a man named Carlo," Ezio said, his mind already heading to a meeting three days away. "He looked to be a government official. Do you know him?"

Antonio nodded. "Most likely Carlo Grimaldi. He sits on the Council of Ten. Why do you ask?" Antonio raised a dark brow. "What are you up to?"

"I have a meeting to attend."

"No doubt," Antonio nodded. "But for now, it's late. Let's sleep. Tomorrow we can go through Emilio's papers and see if we can learn anything."

"Sounds like a good idea."

Antonio gave another wide smile. "And now that I have a new home, I think I can find you a proper guest room."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Gueeeeeeh... The four year timeskip is dooooooooone.

Lots of character building for Rosa and Ugo, and Antonio to a point. Hopefully the relationship between Rosa and Ezio makes a vague amount of sense, that they're both looking for a "good fuck" when they're sad and flirt the rest of the way, much to Ugo's never-ending embarrassment. It was the only way we could make it work and make sense, especially with how we've made Ezio's desires for women tied to his personal tragedy. Leo also got a small moment to shine - Mirror nearly cried when she first read it. And we TRIED to make the missions make sense on how much freakin' time they took.

From here on in everything is insanely rushed for Ezio, and subsequently for us. He barely can keep up with the targets as they line themselves up, and new allies are going to be thrown at him just as fast. We tried, we really did. Hope you liked.

And as for Frankenstorm Sandy: we blogged most of it on our livejournal account, but the short of it is we lost power late Monday night when a mile's worth of line fell to the ground in massive loops down our street; and we were out for a blessed 24 hours. It's a statement of the state's management of the crisis that today, five days later we're waaaaay down to 12% without power. Last year that didn't happen until week 2 of the crisis. The shoreline, simply put, was devastated. But the ones we really have to pray for, is NJ and NY; they didn't have the advantage of Hurricane Irene or Nor'easter Alfred to teach them how to prep for a disaster like this. They'll be in the dark for WEEKS. Pray for WV, too, they're suffering a combination of Irene and Alfred in one shot.

And oh yeah, this game called AC3 is out. We don't want to hear any spoiler, nor will we give any spoilers, but we will say this: The Eagle Sequence. Achilles. It was impossible to be quiet for that.


	16. Death of a Sychophant

**Part Sixteen: Death of a Sycophant**

Ezio slept well into the next morning, especially since several of the thieves insisted on partying well into the night. He did not wish to linger, however. He wanted to head to Santo Stefano. Better to be early and see the lay of the land, rather than arriving without a clue what was before him. Plus, he'd spent so much time in the San Polo district; it would probably be best to re-familiarize himself with the San Marco district. If he was able to kill the Spaniard, he'd need to know his escape routes.

He was dressed once more in his white hood and robes and munching on some bread for breakfast as he headed to the courtyard (the Venetian taste for salt in the bread now more palatable after so long in the city). Along the marble floors several thieves were still passed out and those that were awake were slumped by the well, trying to manage the brainpower necessary to get water in an attempt to remove their hangovers.

Ezio couldn't help but laugh.

Those awake sent rude words and gestures in his direction, those with enough concentration to do more than grunt.

Antonio was walking along the bodies, swaying a little, but he smiled when he saw Ezio.

"Ah! My friend! What a beautiful morning! And it couldn't be more beautiful than us being in the Seta! Reports are already coming in that the merchants are celebrating!"

"It's good to see the results of such hard work," Ezio agreed, clasping Antonio's arm and shaking it.

"Now, I believe we should probably start sorting through some documents and see what else our dear benefactor of such a lovely _palazzo_ left behind."

"Indeed," Ezio smiled. They both buried themselves in Emilio Barbarigo's documents, looking for anything useful about other Templar activity in the city. Rosa and Ugo checked in with them much later, finally awake, and were put in charge of searching the rest of the _palazzo_ and returning stolen goods back to the merchants.

While looking through the documents, Ezio explained that there were two things he kept an eye out for wherever he went. One was the skull within the Assassin symbol of a compass in a cup. Finding them in Florence was easy, Ezio knew the city like the back of his hand, but he was hoping Antonio knew the islands of Venice just as well. As for Codex pages, Ezio was sifting through a desk when he came across several.

"_Bene_," he smiled. "I'll need to make a trip up to Milano."

Frankly, he may just need to make a trip back to Monteriggioni. With all the Codex pages he'd found and feathers he'd gathered, to say nothing of the seal he'd found in Forli with Leonardo. These were things he didn't trust with a caravan, things he felt best to deliver home in person, but he just hadn't had the time. Going to either Milan or Monteriggioni would be a several day trip, depending on weather, but Ezio could worry about where to go first later.

It was almost evening when Rosa burst into the study.

"Antonio!"

"What is it, Rosa?" the thief stood quickly.

"A Barbarigo _porca puttana_ is here to see you," she growled.

Ezio stood as well. "How many men did he bring?"

"None," Rosa replied.

"Ah," Antonio smiled. "I think I know who that is. Come, Ezio, this should be interesting."

They left the study together, Rosa swearing quietly behind them and glaring distrustfully as they descended the stairs and met the single Barbarigo who stood in a circle of thieves, looking nervous.

"Agostino!" Antonio greeted! "My, it _has_ been a while!"

"Antonio," the Barbarigo said, relieved, pulling off his hat and running a hand through his thin snow-white hair. "I apologize for being silent for so long."

"Nonsense!" Antonio came up, his dark eyes sharp. "I understand your brother Marco was having you watched. Didn't like your associations with us?"

"Not in the least," Agostino grunted. "My big brother has the Borgia holding his leash. It's despicable."

"What brings you to our door?"

Agostino sighed deeply, his great girth seeming to deflate. "My _idiota_ of a brother is getting nervous about something. Nervous and anxious, I suspect he's expecting a windfall of some kind, especially now that our _figlio d'un cane_ of a cousin Emilio is dead." The large man turned to Ezio. "Much as I hated the _bastardo_, I hope it was quick?"

Ezio merely nodded.

"Good. Better than he deserved, but... _bene_." Agostino turned to Antonio again. "Marco has been talking about a meeting when he thinks I'm not listening. It can't be good for us, whatever it is."

"Don't worry," Ezio said. "If it's the meeting I'm thinking of, I'm already going to be there."

Agostino nodded again. "Well then I'd best be on my way. Sorry, but I don't think it's wise for me to be seen with you. The only reason I got away from Marco's watchdogs is because he's focused on this meeting of his."

"Don't worry about it," Antonio replied. "Consider us properly informed. Some of my men will shadow you home and make sure you weren't seen."

"_Va bene_." Agostino sighed again. "What a family I have. _Assassino_, I suspect you'll be visiting a few of them. Make sure their ends are quick."

Ezio bowed. "I make no guarantees, but I shall try."

"That's all I can ask, I suppose."

Antonio made a motion and Ugo nodded, he and several thieves taking off to the shadows of evening as the Barbarigo left.

"I'd best be on my way as well," Ezio said, turning to Antonio.

The thief nodded. "I suppose that's for the best. I'm still busy here reorganizing things, getting things returned. You've the freedom to move. Come see me after that meeting, though. I'll still give you whatever aide you need."

"Of course, my friend," Ezio smiled. The grin he gave Rosa was more flirtatious, which she returned with an arched brow, but Ezio took his leave.

He spent the night on the rooftops, admiring the stars and the moon before he fell asleep. The following day he familiarized himself with the San Marco district, exploring all sorts of nooks and crannies that he hadn't had the chance with all the time he spent in San Polo. He restocked on supplies, particularly throwing knives, which he'd relied on when sweeping Emilio's archers off the roofs, went over all his equipment.

That night he slept in a haystack near the small square in front of the church and watched the crowds once dawn came.

Carlo Grimaldi arrived early, just as the sun was cresting the horizon, and sat on a bench, reading through some papers by lantern, rubbing at his short salt-and-pepper beard. Within the hour, a portly man in a red short cape and hood approached.

"Where is Emilio?"

Carlo shrugged. "I told him to be here."

"You told him yourself?" the red hooded man said skeptically. "In person?"

Grimaldi frowned. "Yes, myself, in person." Then he scowled. "I'm concerned that you don't trust me."

"As am I." They stayed still for a moment before the red hooded man shrugged. "Perhaps he'll arrive with the others. Walk with me."

Carlo nodded, gathering up his papers and stood. Ezio easily slipped out of the haystack, brushing off the pieces, and melded with the early morning crowds.

"So," the portly man asked, "how goes things at the palace?"

Carlo sighed. "Honestly, it's difficult," he said. "Mocenigo keeps his circle close. I have tried to lay the groundwork, making suggestions, but he has other voices at his ears."

"Then you must work harder," the red hooded man replied like it was obvious. "You must become part of his inner circle."

"_Si_," Carlo nodded as Ezio merged with a crowd in front of a herald. "But it's harder than I expected."

"And why is that, Carlo?"

"I don't know!" Grimaldi growled in frustration. "He's just a... the _Doge_ doesn't like me."

"I wonder why."

"It's not my fault!" Carlo defended. Ezio merged with a crowd passing by. "I keep trying to please him. I learn what he craves, and I have it delivered. The finest jams from the orchards of Sardinia, the latest fashions from Milano-"

"Yes," the portly man spat, "and that's called being a sycophant."

Ezio held in a chuckle.

"A what?" Carlo exclaimed, insulted. "What did you call me?!"

"A doormat, a flatterer, a bootlicker. Need I go on?"

Ezio left the people he was walking with and joined a small group that was deep in conversation about all that business in Rome with Caterina Sforza holding the Castel Sant'Angelo.

"_Bastardo_!" Grimaldi growled. "You don't know what it's like; you don't understand the pressure in there."

"Oh, I don't understand pressure?!" the red hooded man scoffed.

"No, you have no idea!" Carlo was trying very hard not to shout in the crowded streets. "You are a government official! I am two steps from the _Doge_ himself. I am beside him day and night! You _wish_ you could be where I am!"

The portly man crossed his arms and looked down his nose haughtily. "Are you done?"

"Hardly." Grimaldi spat back. "You listen to me now! I am close. The _Doge_ can be recruited to our cause, I'm sure of it. I just..." he looked away. "I need a little more time."

"Time is not a thing we have in great supply," the portly man retorted. "Keep moving."

"Is it much further?"

The red hooded man growled. "Don't be such a little girl!"

All conversation stopped as they continued walking.

Ezio stayed behind them, flitting from conversations to travelers, always talking with someone like he belonged there, though his eyes never strained from Carlo Grimaldi and whoever his companion was. It was full morning when they arrived at the sprawling square in front of both the San Marco Basilica and the Palazzo Ducale. It was far more crowded here and Ezio had no problem shifting from one flow of people to another until he was near a wooden stage of some kind. From across the massive square came a man whom Ezio was certain was Agostino's brother, Marco. Also with a beard of snowy white, though not as long and heavy set, the man was dressed in expensive ermine robes, despite the warming day, a younger man by his side with a broadsword, likely a bodyguard.

"_Buon giorno_, cousin," Marco greeted. Ezio nodded to himself, confirming another Barbarigo in the family. "_Signor_ Carlo."

"We thought Emilio would be with you," the red hooded Barbarigo said.

"Emilio is dead," Marco replied.

"What?" the portly Barbarigo gasped. "How?"

"The Assassin!" Grimaldi realized. "The same one who hunted down the Pazzi! He's here, in Venezia. I warned that fool Emilio!'

"It is so," Marco confirmed. "Silvio, did you not know? He could be anywhere. He could be here right now and we might not even know. He struck Emilio inside his own _palazzo_!"

A part of Ezio was pleased that his work was recognized. But a larger part of him was cursing in frustration. Anonymity and surprise were his greatest assets, and it seemed he no longer had them. These Barbarigo would be prepared. _Merda_.

"And so, what of our plans?" the red hooded Silvio Barbarigo demanded.

"There is no longer time for subtlety, my brothers," Marco replied. "We must act now."

"But Marco," Grimaldi protested. "I'm so close! A few more days. If I can just-"

"No," Marco said firmly. "It happens this week."

The bodyguard who kept watching the square leaned forward. "We should keep moving."

The quartet started to move again and Ezio easily blended into the crowds once more.

"And what does the Spaniard have to say of this change of plan?" Silvio asked, glancing around them as well.

"You can ask him yourself soon enough," Marco replied with a smile.

"He's here?" Carlo gasped. "From Roma?"

"So I've heard," Marco replied haughtily.

"Good!" Silvio smiled. "Then perhaps he's made a decision."

"About what, cousin?" Marco raised an eyebrow.

"About which of us shall step into the robes of the _Doge_, 'cousin'," Silvio said coldly.

"I didn't know there was a decision to be made," Marco said confidently. "Surely the choice is obvious to all."

"Obvious, indeed," Silvio said with just as much confidence. "It should be the one who organized the entire operation; the one who came up with the idea of how to save this city."

Ezio noticed guards keeping a sharp eye out and spied a courtesan. With a quick payment, she was distracting the guards while he went by unseen.

"There is no lack of value in tactical intelligence, good Silvio," Marco nodded to his cousin. "But it is wisdom one needs to rule. Do not think otherwise."

Grimaldi tried to intervene on the rising tension. "Calm, calm friends, please. There is no need for this. You know, it's not up to either of you. For all we know, he might not even choose a Barbarigo." No doubt where Carlo's hope was. Especially given how he was currently serving the _Doge_.

The Barbarigos noticed this as well and howled with laughter.

"And why not me?" Carlo protested. "I'm the one who's done all the hard work!"

"Enough!" Marco still chuckled. "We wait for his arrival."

The four had arrived at a dark back street surrounded by residential apartments. Ezio was isolated on the main thoroughfare, so he swiftly climbed to the roofs, ignoring the surprise of the people around him.

"Must have been drinking the good stuff!"

"He must be late... And she must be beautiful!"

"Isn't there a _decency_ law that applies to just such an occasion?"

Once on the roofs, Ezio edged forward carefully, much as when he was at the Seta and stayed low. The sun was approaching noon and he didn't wish for his shadow to be seen. Little did he know he had been seen scaling the face of the building.

"Are you sure he's coming?" Carlo asked.

"Yes," Marco replied.

"_Signori_," the bodyguard said, glancing up to the rooftops. "We should move a little faster. I feel eyes on us."

Marco smiled, extremely pleased. "Thank you, Dante. We will move at your pace." Dante nodded, taking off at a slightly faster pace.

"This guard's a good find, cousin," Silvio complemented. "How much did you pay for him?"

Marco's chest puffed in pride as Ezio continued to follow on the roofline. "Perhaps not as much as he deserves. He's saved my life on two occasions, though he's not much of a conversationalist. "

"Enough with your inane prattle!" a Spanish accented voice growled, "The choice of _Doge_ was never up to any of you, and you were never given permission to make plans."

Ezio cursed himself. That meant that the Spaniard had been following and listening as well. How had Ezio not _seen_ him? He should have changed to his special vision during the tailing. Had the Spaniard seen Ezio? He thought he'd done a good job blending from crowd to crowd, but now he wasn't so sure...

Really, Ezio could be such an _idiot_ sometimes.

"Forgive us, _Maestro_," Marco bowed. "We wish only to serve."

The Spaniard stood tall, towering over them in presence even if he wasn't the tallest one, and soaked in silence for a moment. Then, he changed topics. "The plan is this: _Doge_ Mocenigo will die tonight. And once the deed's been done, Marco shall take his place."

"I humbly thank you, _Maestro_," Marco was quick to bow deeply and with much humility.

Silvio stepped forward, clearly angry, then scoffed, looking away.

"Good," the Spaniard nodded, pleased. Then he turned to Carlo. "_Messer_ Grimaldi, you are closest to Mocenigo, your work, the most vital. Serve us well, and it won't be forgotten," Carlo bowed as well. "Walk with me."

With the Spaniard now amongst them, they kept walking down the residential streets. Ezio stuck to the roofs, careful to keep his shadow away from them as the sun kept creeping higher.

"I don't want any blood spilled, you understand?" the Spaniard said. "It must appear to all that he goes quietly."

"Certainly, _Maestro_," Grimaldi assured.

"When are you closest to him?" the Spaniard asked.

"I have full run of the palace," Carlo said confidently. "He may not care to hear what I have to say, but he trusts me by now as one of his own."

The Spaniard nodded. "_Bravo_. Then I want you to infiltrate the kitchen and poison his meal."

"So be it."

The Spaniard turned. "Marco, can you furnish us with a suitable toxin on short notice?"

"I defer to my cousin. That is really his area of expertise."

"Ah, Silvio..." and the Spaniard turned to the red hooded Silvio.

"I am at your service, _Maestro_," he said.

"What can you bring to get this done?"

"I will confer with my associates in the streets, but chances are good that I can procure some Cantarella," Silvio said with confidence.

"Yes," the Spaniard nodded, "and what is that?"

"It is a most effective form of arsenic and difficult to trace."

"Ah, _va bene_, _va bene_. Then it's decided."

They continued to walk, discussing timing, when the poison could be obtained then delivered, how Grimaldi could get it and then slip it into the kitchen. Ezio stuck to the roofs and listened, committing every detail to memory.

_Merda_. He had no time to prepare, no time to plan! For the past four years he'd been doing nothing _but_ planning, but now he had to wing it, infiltrate the Palazzo Ducale somehow. He leapt nimbly down to the Ponte di Rialto, landing on a roof and crawling forward on his stomach to watch and listen.

Marco finally slipped the topic to something else. "Forgive me, _Maestro_, but is this not a tad dangerous for you, involving yourself so intimately with the minutiae of our plans?"

"I feel the need to involve myself more directly," the Spaniard said firmly. "The Pazzi disappointed us in Firenze. I pray you will not do the same."

"Do not worry this time," Silvio said with bluster. "The Pazzi were a bunch of foolish-"

"The Pazzi were a potent and venerable family," the Spaniard interrupted coldly, "reduced to rubble by one young Assassin. Do not underestimate this troublesome foe who now haunts your city, or the same fate will befall the Barbarigo. I want this done promptly. _Bene_, I must return to Roma. Time is of the essence. Do not fail us."

The Spaniard glanced around, wary, then turned and disturbed a flock of pigeons as he stalked away.

A flock that flew right at Ezio and had him backing up on the roof to avoid spitting out feathers. By the time he'd swatted all the pigeons away, all the Barbarigo, the Spaniard, and Grimaldi had dispersed and disappeared.

_What an idiot I am_! He should have kept his eyes on them no matter the distraction! He would have to go and see Antonio if he had any hope of salvaging the mess he'd made.

Ezio stayed on the roofs, since the thieves now controlled San Polo and he didn't have to worry about archers. It was faster as he leapt from tiled roof to crossbeam, to archway. He was halfway to the Seta when Rosa stopped him on the roofs.

"_Salute_, my pretty. What has you in such a rush? You back to see me already?"

Ezio smiled as he caught his breath, then kissed her cheeks in greeting. "Sorry, _mia cara_, but I am not here to play. I must speak with Antonio. It's urgent."

Rosa gave a beautiful pout. "Antonio!" she called out. "Ezio's here!"

Antonio seemed to appear on the roof, "Ezio!" he greeted, "Is everything alright? How did the meeting go?"

"Carlo Grimaldi and the Barbarigo are in league with the one they call the Spaniard," he explained. "They're going to murder the _Doge_ and replace him with one of their own. They will have all of Venezia, her entire fleet, in their grasp."

"... And they call _me_ a criminal!"

"Then you will help me?"

Antonio nodded. "You have me on your side, brother. And the support of all my men."

"...and women," Rosa added, eyeing Ezio up and down.

"_Grazie, _friends."

"But, Ezio, I must warn you," Antonio said seriously. "It's not going to be so easy this time. Palazzo Ducale is the most heavily-guarded building in Venezia."

Ezio shrugged. "Nothing is impenetrable."

Rosa laughed in her throat, making Ezio realize the possible innuendo of his words and he offered her a flirtatious smirk. "This is why we like you, Ezio," she said.

"Come! Let's go take a look. We'll come up with a plan," Antonio said.

"I'll get Ugo and start seeing where this Silvio could get the poison and see if we can head him off," Rosa said.

Antonio and Ezio took off over the roofs again, backtracking the way Ezio had come and avoiding the crowded streets below.

"This business with the _Doge_...terrible," Antonio commented. "Though, treachery like this no longer surprises me."

"Nor I," Ezio agreed as they reached the Rialto Bridge and swiftly crossed it.

Antonio continued on his own philosophies, of how nobility would never add another to their ranks due to ingrained bigotry, though the lower classes still believed that they always had a chance. Antonio had worked hard, studied and learned, but could move no higher in the social ladder. So, to Antonio's beliefs, the real nobility were at the very bottom: The people who would bleed and sweat to save the city.

They arrived once more at the great square in front of the Palazzo Ducale and San Marco Basilica, where Ezio had been not hours before.

"We need to scout the _palazzo_ carefully; see it from every angle," Antonio said, "We just might find a way in. I know of a tall campanile behind the _palazzo_. Or we might find a way to climb the back of the Basilica. Do you have any ideas?"

"I assume the front door is out?" he asked in Florentine irony.

The thief laughed despite the seriousness of the situation. "_Va bene_, we'll try the front door as well, _saputello_."

Ezio smiled and they slipped into the shadows of the Campanile di San Marco in the middle of the square. From there they had a view of the entire square, spanning from the Basilica all the way to the Palazzo and the lagoon beyond it.

And a perfect view of all the guards.

"We're not getting in this way," Antonio frowned. "They'll have time to murder the _Doge_ before we're able to get through all these guards."

Ezio agreed and they jogged off into the crowds, weaving through the thick mass of people and heading for the small docks before turning and going along the south side of the Palazzo Ducale and over a small bridge of a canal. Ezio saw the tall campanile Antonio had mentioned and they both started to climb swiftly.

"Look at that," Antonio cursed. "Archers everywhere."

And indeed, patrolling the roof of the Palazzo Ducale were easily a dozen archers, looking down to the streets with knocked bows.

"And the walls are impossible to climb on this side," Ezio sighed.

They climbed back down and started along the east side of the Palazzo Ducale, still finding no climbing points or anything of any use to them.

Ezio's stomach was starting to grumble, but he ignored it. It was only an hour or so past noon. They crossed the canal back, looking to the north side of the Basilica when,

"_Bene_!" Antonio exclaimed. "We're in luck. Looks like there's a perfect path up the scaffolding to the roof of the Basilica. Shall we?"

And indeed, there was scaffolding and beams set up for repair work to some of the bricks of the Basilica, and Ezio could trace an easy line up to the roofline.

It was an hour to climb up, the sun beating down for an unusually warm day, but Ezio wiped the sweat away once he was on the roof. The roof of the Palazzo Ducale was barred by heavy iron, but that wasn't what drew Ezio's eyes as he looked down into the vast courtyard of the Palazzo Ducale.

"Ezio, look!" Antonio hissed. "Isn't that him? Grimaldi?"

And Carlo was crossing on a second story balcony, following a man in gold fabric and expensive ermine. Ezio sharpened his ears as much as he could, trying to let the wind bring the words to them.

"Don't you understand what I'm offering you, _Signore_?" Carlo pleaded. "Listen to me, please! Or this will be your last chance..." his voice trailed off with a touch of menace.

The _Doge_ didn't even break his stride. "How dare you?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Carlo was quick to apologize, "I meant nothing by it! I'm only looking out for your safety."

Antonio cursed, breaking Ezio's concentration. "We're running out of time! There's no way through this fence and there are guards everywhere. _Diavolo_!" he cursed. The Florentine Assassin agreed. He wandered the roof of the Basilica, the greenish metal warm under his boots from the sun. He passed one of the massive domes of the San Marco, eyeing the cast iron fence. Scaling wasn't exactly the problem, but the sharp finials were hazardous, and the archers along the roof of the Palazzo Ducale would see their every move. Frowning, he descended a ladder, Antonio becoming more and more frustrated as time pressed upon them both. The lower roof hooked around and left a breathtaking view of the San Marco square; but it was also filled with archers, and Ezio was about to discretely retreat when he looked at the recess he was hiding in.

"It's impossible!" Antonio was hissing, eyeing the guards. "There's no way in or out for men. Only birds."

"Yes... birds..." Ezio said, only half listening.

Antonio sensed the distraction and followed his gaze. "What is it?" he asked.

But the twenty-six-year-old was grabbing at the eye sockets of a skull, twisting it and revealing the Assassin symbol, and ancient mechanical sounds could be heard as the recess swung open, yawning into a dark tunnel.

Antonio gasped, the older thief looked to the former noble with wide eyes. "I can see why you wanted my men to search for these symbols," he said, a little breathless.

"Perhaps I'll find a treasure while I'm in there," Ezio said with an ironic smile, anticipation beginning to fill him. "Still I have a way in to the Basilica, and from there I can get into the _palazzo_. I don't know how long it will take, but I'll move as fast as I can. Have someone standing by if I have to make a quick escape - I don't know from where. Even if I'm caught, I'll try to make enough noise that Carlo Grimaldi will doubt he has time to assassinate the _Doge_."

Antonio blinked. "You... you would sacrifice yourself over this?"

Ezio gave a charming smile. "I hope not to sacrifice myself at all," he said brightly, before his face turned serious. "I've been in Venezia for four years, _Messer_ de Magianis," Ezio said. "Florentine though I am, I've come to enjoy the city's charms, and however much I _hate_ the Templars and what they've done to my father, and to Florence, and to the Medici, I refuse to stand and let them to it elsewhere."

The pale thief blinked, and then smiled, reaching out and patting Ezio's shoulder. "You've grown since we met," he said, nodding stoutly. "I'll do what I can."

Then, he gave an aristocratic bow, formal and stiff and elegant, and disappeared back over the roofs to prepare.

Ezio followed the dark tunnel, his namesake's eyes open to every shadow and dip. At the end of the tunnel he pulled at a lever, and startled slightly that the ledge he was on began to spin around. As he entered the Basilica proper, he realized that he had entered through another recess; this was the most secret of all the entrances he had come across in these old tombs, and he stepped out carefully, weary of guards. To his surprise, however, the church was entirely empty; it seemed the guards' only needed to guard the outside.

The inside was massive, as large as the Duomo, Basilica della Fiore in Florence, with intricate marble floors, impressively tall windows that streamed beams of light everywhere, cross shaped chandeliers, and an impressive altar at the end of the pews. The lack of guards gave him a moment to breathe, but he also knew that his first priority was getting to the _palazzo_ next door. He could explore the church for the assassin tomb at a later date; his first priority was to the _Doge_ and saving his life.

The balcony he was on had no doors, a decorative structure to highlight the massive cross, inlaid in the windows behind him. Frowning, he took a moment to gauge the distance before making a controlled fall to the floor, landing in a tight roll. Ezio wasn't sure which way he was facing, and which end faced the _palazzo_, and so he explored the cavernous space with its colored light and marble floors, passing an astonishingly detailed mosaic inlay at the center of the basilica. Every door he tried was locked; it felt like the entire _building_ was closed.

He did, however, eventually find the connector to the _palazzo_, and his lips thinned when he saw it was veritably flooded with guards. This late in the afternoon, there was no new business or governing duties to attend to, everyone had left and he was the only one not in uniform. Could he knock a man out and steal the Venetian blues? He studied the patrols, and saw that everyone traveled in pairs. Damn, _damn_, how was he supposed to get past all of that?

A patrol started to head towards the Basilica, and Ezio quickly ducked away from the door, backtracking into the church and pacing slightly, his mind working furiously. Could he lie and say his partner was off with a lover? How strict was the discipline of the guards? He didn't know, he didn't _know_, and he wished he had time to plan the way Antonio always did. After four years of careful construction and execution of heists from rich caravans or raiding noble _palazzos_ for redistribution, or wreaking havoc during Carnevale, Ezio could never go back to just sneaking in and hoping for the best, and he couldn't understand how he had done it for so long beforehand.

Cursing over lack of time or lack of plan would do him no good, and with a growl he asked his eagle to help him. Darting his gaze about the church, he looked for a trace of gold, some instinctual hint of what he was supposed to do next. It lead him to the altar, and walking around it he found a hidden Assassin symbol, pointing to a discreet corner of the altar and to a well-hidden button, or lever of some kind lost in the relief that decorated the massive tableau. He fumbled with it for a moment before spinning it around, and he could hear the heavy sounds of machinery beneath his feet. It echoed _everywhere_, and Ezio prepared to bolt up to high ground if any of the _palazzo_ guards heard the cacophony of noise.

When the rumbles and echoes finally stopped, Ezio got up from behind the altar and went back out to the center of the Basilica, shocked to see that the magnificently designed mosaic floor had lowered. He fell down into the new hole, quickly finding a lever and watching in fascination as the tile was lifted back up to its original position. He wished suddenly that Leonardo was here; the man would likely go on for hours about the engineering and how the designs and structures had been set up to create such an elaborate entry.

Now that he was below, he descended a series of steps to find the tomb, the statue a duplicate of the one in the Sanctuary at Monteriggioni. There was decidedly less treasure here, only a few massive vases too heavy to carry and a few chests, but Ezio didn't even spare them a second glance, instead putting his weight against the sarcophagus, the relief a similar design to the statue of Altair in uniform, and gazed at the mummified remains, a red sash draped over the assassin and the seal he was looking for resting in its hands.

"I am sorry to disturb you," Ezio said, reaching down and taking the seal. "But my time is short. I have a life I need to save. I hope your exit leads me to the Ducale."

He asked his eagle for help in that. He found a false wall, needing quite a bit of weight to turn it around, and he exited to another dim tunnel, bidding the tomb one last farewell before closing it and then walking down the tunnel. Experience told him that no one knew of these tunnels, and eventually he was ascending an unending series of stairs, taking him up and up and _up_. When he exited, he found himself on the roof of the Palazzo Ducale.

He... he made it. He _made_ it.

It was deep into the night as well, his time spent traversing the tunnels leading to and from the tomb was apparently much longer than he had initially thought; and when he realized that he also realized he was _starving_. More than that, however, was the pressing realization of how long the gray-bearded Carlo Grimaldi had been with the _Doge_. Had the poison been delivered by now? Had they already supped, or would it be slipped into a late night snack? Was the _Doge_ already dead?

No, he couldn't think like that. He had managed to save Lorenzo de' Medici, thereby saving Florence and keeping their idyllic lifestyle. He had blocked the Templars from digging their hands into his home; he _had_ to do the same for Venice. No city in all of Italy needed a Templar in charge. None. He had to kill Carlo before he killed the _Doge_, his death was necessary to fight the Templars, and so Ezio could not allow himself to think otherwise. He _would_ be in time, he _would_ save the _Doge_, and he _would_ prevent the freedoms of the people of Venice from being trampled on.

With that in mind, he stalked the roof, coming almost immediately upon an archer and stabbing him in the back, up and with a twist to create a bloodless death and dragged him to one of the many chimneys of the _palazzo_, hiding the cadaver there.

He gazed out over the roofline, eyes examining the enormous courtyard, letting his eagle use his eyes to scan every window, every step, every trellis to let his intuition guide him in where to go. He spotted a flicker of gold to his left, and saw an open window to let in the cool, late summer air. He heard a faint, "It's your move," that was the distinct voice of Carlo Grimaldi, and he knew where he had to go. There were stairs below, on the other side of the oblong courtyard, and with a few quick calculations he knew he could make the jump from the roof to the stairs, if needs be, and he saw some trelliswork he could use to climb if, finally getting there, he saw that it was still too high up.

Nodding, Ezio began working his way around the roof, sticking to the deep shadows of the chimney, keeping his dark half cloak wrapped around him to keep him invisible. He'd rather avoid killing too many archers; he was trying to _save_ a life not steal a dozen others. His boots were heavy on the roof, but the stiff wind carried most of it away, and many of the _palazzo_'s guards didn't even realize he was there. Those that did chased down the sound to find nothing, Ezio disappearing up to the tops of the chimneys, the smoke from fireplaces inside the _palazzo_ stinging his eyes and making him choke for air, but he dared not move until an archer passed.

After almost two hours of sneaking about, Ezio at last arrived to the other side of the roof, and he carefully assessed his options.

Sound carried better than he thought in the courtyard, making leaping an impossible option. The ornate gothic architecture made for no shortages of handholds, however, and Ezio mapped out a path that kept him away from the many arched windows, tracking it to the one that still held a flicker of gold, and with a deep breath he set out.

It was slow going in the dark, and Ezio could not help but think of a different night when he climbed in the dark, desperate to save life - his father and brothers - and hoped that the outcome of tonight would be different. Venice couldn't be torn down by the Templars, she just _couldn't_.

Directly over the window, Ezio took another deep breath and let go, grabbing the sill of the open window as he fell and began hoisting himself up. The _Doge_ was there, in resplendent gold silks and expensive ermine, looking over a chessboard. Across was Carlo, his fingers steeped together and looking down, the picture of patience.

The _Doge_ was lifting a cup to his lips, and Ezio surged into the room.

"_Stop_!" he shouted, lurching in and thwarting the cup away. "_Signore_, don't drink that!"

"You're too late," Carlo said, looking up over his fingers and offering a feral, predatory grin. "The _Doge_ is dead." He overturned the king on the chessboard, a signal that the game was over. He stood slowly, menacingly.

Startled, the _Doge_ looked between the two men. "What? Carlo...?" His face started to flush.

"Apologies _Signore_," the gray bearded man said, standing with stiff formality before bowing - it was a noble's mockery of Antonio's aristocratic grace. "But you should have listened to me when you had the chance." He turned to Ezio, glaring at the man. "Seems you failed, Assassin."

He left, and Ezio was torn between following and helping the gold-robed _Doge. _The _Doge_, gripping his throat, still in shock, started to tilt forward. Ezio quickly caught him, helping him into a chair. "Forgive me, _Signore_," he said, regret filling him. "I tried..."

"Why...?" the dying man asked, choking, coughing up blood. "What was it all for...?"

"Carlo Grimaldi sought to replace you with another _Doge_," Ezio explained, pulling at the ermine cape and hoping to give the man air. "He works for a group of men who would see Venezia in their hands."

"I'm... I'm... killed...?" the _Doge_ asked, still shocked and unable to get past that fact.

Ezio was painfully torn between trying to help the elderly _Doge_ and going after Grimaldi; but in the end he was not Alfeo, or Bianca or any of the other doctors he had met. He did not have any kind of experience with poison and had no idea how to forestall the effects as the _Doge_ coughed more blood, spilling out over his expensive robes and covering Ezio's gloves. Finally, wincing, he said, "I'm sorry, _Signore_, I cannot help you..."

"_Assassino_! _Assassino_! He's killed the _Doge_! The _Doge_ is dead!"

Carlo's cried echoed throughout the courtyard and through the open window, and Ezio could not put off the decision any longer. "I hope they find you quickly," Ezio whispered, hating himself, and running out the door Grimaldi had used, to the second story balcony and down the grand stairwell, his eyes spotting the target running about, shouting still.

Guards were everywhere, shouting and cursing, seeing the unknown assassin all but flying through the courtyard. The archers above were already at work; the fading night giving them just enough light to aim, and Ezio was glad his metal armor deflected the arrows as they rained down from above. One guard stepped up, bracing for a strike, and Ezio ducked under it, rolling under the follow up thrust, and blew past him, eyes only for Carlo Grimaldi. That man would _pay_ for what he'd done for Venezia!

"_Assassino!_ The _Doge_ is dead! _Assassino_!"

The courtyard was flooding with guards, Ezio had little time left, and finally the twenty-six-year-old leapt up, hidden blade extending, and drove it into Carlo's back, his momentum plunging it deep into the man's shoulder; down, down, _down_ into his heart, and the silver bearded man gave a great gasp of surprise.

Panting slightly, Ezio rolled his target over, looking him in the eyes. "It takes one assassin to kill another, it seems," he growled, furious, _furious_, that he had failed.

Carlo coughed, blood pooling beneath him, and smiled slightly, looking up at his murderer. "We kill thinking it's best for us, do we not, _Messer_ Ezio?"

Did he think...? _Honestly_ think...?

Ezio was disgusted, and his voice was rough when he replied. "I do this not for myself. I make this sacrifice for the greater good. _Requiescat in Pace_."

"On him!"

"_Stronzo!_"

"Hold him there!"

Ezio stood, holding his arms far from his body, trying to look pliant. "I have killed the one who murdered the _Doge_!" he said in a loud voice. "Carlo Grimaldi poisoned the _Doge's_ food and I avenged his death!"

"Liar! There was blood on his shirt before he killed Grimaldi!"

"Has anyone seen the _Doge_? Do we know how he died?"

"I wouldn't put it past Grimaldi, he may be telling the truth..."

"_Doge_!"

Everyone turned, _Doge_ Mocenigo stepping weakly down the steps. Blood covered the front of his robes, neck to stomach, and several guards immediately broke formation to help him. The progress was agonizingly slow, Ezio was uncertain what to expect.

When he was within a half dozen meters of Ezio and Carlo's body, he fell, entering a massive coughing fit.

"You... You killed me," he moaned, looking at the assassin and the cadaver. His gaze was blurred, nobody could tell whom he was looking at. "You killed _me_!" Rage colored his otherwise pale face, but his eyes finally rolled back into his head.

And he died.

Ezio had failed.

Damn. _Damn_.

"Seize him!"

No less than three sets of hands grabbed at Ezio's arms, and he twisted out of them, reaching into his pouch for a smoke bomb, throwing it to the ground and braced for the explosion and scent of smoke. Soon everyone near him was coughing, and it was the distraction he needed to dash away, running full tilt to the edge of the courtyard, past a covered well and bursting through a set of doors, stumbling out of the _palazzo_. The dawn light rising over the sea dazzled his eyes, and he stumbled slightly, giving the guards inside and the swarm outside time to close in around him.

Cursing, he used another smoke bomb, but there were too many people this time, he could not distract all of them; all it did was give him a few seconds head start, and with it he ran full speed across the massive square of the _palazzo_, to the Campanile di San Marco and ducking between it and the building next to it. The shadows blinded him after the sun's brightness, but it did for the guards too, and Ezio darted through the alleys, dodging left and right before merging into an early morning crowd, hiding his bloody gloves behind his cloak and listening to the dull complaints of purchase and family problems. The crowd was not large enough to hide him, however, and the faster guards immediately spotted him.

Tired, he pulled away from the cluster even as they turned to eye him, uncertain what had happened, and he was off down the streets again, spotting a pile of crates and leaping up to them, and then to a second story balcony, and then to a third story roof, one very stubborn guard hot on his heels - hot enough, in fact, that he threw his dagger at Ezio and the blade managed to nick his thigh, making him even faster as he spied a collection of birds alone a roofline.

His Uncle had better be right...

He leapt off the roof, nothing but open air, and for a moment all he could think about was Leonardo and his wild theories about making men fly. It was a beautiful dream... But gravity took over and he plummeted down, seeing the hay cart below and burrowing into its stale depths, his shoulder crashing into its bottom.

"Over hear! He's leapt off the roof! His body is in that hay cart!"

Stupid, stubborn, _bastardo_ guard!

Ezio gathered his wits and hauled himself out.

"My God! He's still alive! Seize him! _Seize him!_"

Back through the streets he raced, ducking left and right, before ending up on a bridge and, instead of crossing it, leapt over it to the shock of many citizens as he hopped over the mooring poles to another bridge and backtracking. He found a bench soon after and sat on it, a drunkard snoring next to him. Fighting to get his breath under control, he leaned against the brickwork behind him and crossed his ankles, trying to look like he had every right to be there.

He must have waited there for over an hour, watching the streets fill as he eventually caught his breath. Guards were everywhere; everyone was talking about the event at the Palazzo Ducale, wondering what had happened.

... The Templars had _won_. Marco Barbarigo would become the _Doge_, and likely enact his cousin Emilio's terrible plans to make the entire merchant guild pay him for the honor of doing business or die, and who knew what else. He'd _failed_, and he turned the events over and over in his mind, wondering what he could've done differently.

He wished Rosa was there. He could use a good fuck to make himself forget all this.

... But he couldn't forget this any more than he could forget his family, and thinking that way wasn't going to get him back to Palazzo della Seta. Where _was_ Antonio anyway? He'd asked for thieves to standby and help in his escape. Ah, but he had _so many_ guards chasing him help was likely impossible. Sighing, he got up, pulling off his bloody gloves and dipping down an alley to the canal where he dumped them into the waters.

"Look! Bloody gloves! I saw that! Over here, he's over here!"

Shocked, Ezio looked up to see a guard at the other side of the canal, having watched his guilty act.

Even Rosa and Ugo at their worst did not have enough curses for Ezio, so he created a few on the spot as he once more ran full tilt down the streets of Venice, making several hard turns before leaping up a ladder to a repair platform - careful not to disturb the buckets of material - and hopping to a flower beam and then to a balcony and then to a roof, running down the tiles, several falling into the canal below him and then testing his balance on a rope strung out over a wide boulevard, hopping down to a lower roof, and finally landing in a tight roll in a dark alley before running out into an avenue and joining a collection of people at its mouth, talking about the weather.

Not five minutes later a hand tapped his shoulder, and Ezio very nearly took off at a run _again_, but he turned and saw Rosa and Ugo, both gesturing him to calm down.

Safe...

Safe at last...

* * *

**Author's Notes:** le GASP! The twins blatantly ignored the flying sequence of the game. The horror!

Let us explain. We've talked about this before, but the AC games require a certain suspension of disbelief, what with the POE and First Civilization and other things being thrown around. They do a good job for the most part, but once in a while there comes a point when the two of us played that made us go, "No, there's no WAY that could happen." Leo's flying machine is one of them. It's been scientifically proven - several times, that his flying machine can't work, and he was such a scatterbrain that he never finished anything - including the flying machine tests. Tack on the fact that it was the FREAKIN' HARDEST PART of the game, and, well, we threw up our hands and said, "No way."

It also gave us an excuse to use the San Marco assassin tomb, so there's that as well. The San Marco tomb was another case of suspension of disbelief. It was hands down our favorite tomb of AC2, but the idea that the builders of the basilica deliberately created these elaborate free-running routes to unnecessarily twist around a mosaic floor and then lower it to a secret basement... It just didn't fly, and so to our great consternation we streamlined it to the cheap display you see above. Sigh. We tried.

In AC3 news, we've finally started getting recruits. We seem to have hit a glitch, however, where our North Boston district is still in dispute, and we can't find anymore citizens to save. Do we have to wait or something...? And Connor is so 4w3s0m3; he doesn't wanna kill people. And he's so POLITE, too! It's like an echo of Altair... (dreamy sigh)

Next chapter: Ezio mourns his failure with Leonardo, gets a new weapon, and goes to Carnivale. I wonder what Christina memory is coming next...


	17. Tracing History

**Part Seventeen: Tracing History**

Blank ceiling.

No gondola. No smelly waters. No thief siblings.

No arid desert. No Maria. No... Sef.

Loft.

2012.

Desmond Miles. He was Desmond Miles.

He sighed in relief, his dream still haunting him and glad that he still knew whom he was. That was freaky beyond measure, and he quickly got out of the Animus after Rebecca was done fiddling with his arm. He stretched slightly, and looked at the shadows the high windows cast, where the blocks of light fell.

"Did we get out early?" he asked slowly, looking over to Rebecca.

"Yeah," the rocker said, adjusting her headphones and tapping away at the Animus computer. "Not much was happening - well, not until the end there - and we figured you were at a good place to stop."

Desmond shook his head. "It doesn't _feel_ early. How many years did I just live through?"

"About four."

Whoa.

"Anyway," Lucy said, getting up from her station. "I think we should have an early lunch and then have you looking for glyphs. Shaun and Rebecca have found some in Forli, and several in San Gimignano."

"Okay," Desmond said slowly, remembering the city of towers and the home of that hot countess Caterina. "Wanna run with me first?"

"At least he's consistent," Shaun muttered from where he faced the wall. Desmond ignored him; the man obviously still sour from Desmond's sleeping in.

Still, Desmond, Lucy, and even Rebecca (thought this was likely to spite a certain Brit) all ran around the warehouse and the different obstacle courses Lucy had set up yesterday. After that was a good stretch, Shaun complaining viciously that he had been left to cook, and they all sat around the plasma, munching on "fish and chips," Rebecca commenting several times that they should be eating _Italian_ fare, not some lame British default. Desmond stayed well away from a certain historian as the two began their epic battle, instead eying Lucy several times to see if she were okay. It seemed she was past her "little breakdown," but it was obvious her mind was far, far away. He stayed next to her, hoping it would be enough.

Then, it was back in the Animus, Desmond spawning in Monteriggioni and its dismal effigies. With an intimacy that was similar to being in Masyaf, Desmond walked down the stairs, past the practicing Ulderico and his mercenaries, and down the main street. He studied Santino's shop, past Adler's bank, looked at Vincenzo's art shop (Ezio hadn't seen it yet, and the idea of knowing something his ancestor didn't made him perversely happy), and sparing a glance at Alfeo's apothecary.

At the stables he grabbed a horse and rode down the dirt path to the edge of the map, the Animus switching to the white loading screen before the hills of Tuscany and San Gimignano rose before him.

"I can see why he loves this country," Desmond said, riding out.

"_Tuscany is beautiful,_" Rebecca said. "_I've seen lots of pictures. Their food is great too - except for saltless bread._"

"Oh, so we're not in Tuscany right now?"

"_No._"

"Okay. Where to?"

"_First stop: Monte Oliveto Maggiore._"

"That's the Benedictine abbey Stephano Bagnone died," Desmond muttered to himself, remembering Ezio and his growing Eagle Vision. He nudged his horse, eating up territory as he rode over the rolling green hills. It was a shorter trip that it was for Ezio, but in this at least, Desmond was beginning to understand the limits of the Animus. The abbey was a big complex, and it took a while for Desmond to find the glyph on the roof before he scanned it. **Martyrs**, the glyph said, and Desmond saw an old black and white photo of some guy called Nicholas II, Czar of Russia. "Okay, he muttered, why is this guy important?" He scanned the picture with his special sight, and saw that the staff the man was holding looked different.

ID: Piece of Eden 34. The staff that Sixteen had talked about earlier. "So... the staff is in Russia?"

"_Abstergo thinks it was destroyed,_" Lucy said, "_And that Assassins did it. I'm not sure how or why. Vidic flagged a few of Sixteen's memories, but I never saw them all._"

Next up was a painting of some chick in armor, and given the last glyph he saw and the staff he focused in on the sword. Lo and behold, the girl, Joan of Arc from France, had Piece of Eden 25.

"They burned Joan alive," Sixteen's voice said, still dithered and scratchy. "They condemned her as a witch even as they took it. Rasputin, he took it to Tunguska. Without the staff, the Czar was powerless. He could no longer control his subjects... Revolution! Revolution!"

Desmond blinked. "I'm lost again. Oh mighty historian?"

"_Look at that, the baby assassin's learned to ask a question properly, well done, well done. Okay, so Joan of Arc would have been a contemporary of Ezio's grandfather. Peasant girl who claimed she was following the will of God and broke all kinds of tradition by leading the French army to many victories in their Hundred Year War with England. I think it's safe to assume it wasn't God, but the Piece of Eden she was following, though how she got it is anyone's guess at this point. She was eventually captured and sold to England, and at the tender age of nineteen burned at the steak - declared a martyr by a Pope in 1456._

_ "Nicholas, meanwhile, is a bit more interesting. I won't bore you with details, baby assassin that you are, but he was the last Czar of Russia. History books say that because of World War I and Russia's losses and general mismanagement, along with several things he did that would bore the baby to tears, the people began a revolution. Sixteen's implications, however, suggest that Rasputin - a mystic close to the Romanov family - stole the staff and thereby ruined any control over the people that Nicholas had. Tunguska... I'll have to get back to you on that. Post industrial revolution is considered current events to me, I'm not as familiar with it._"

But, with Shaun's explanation the glyph had ended, the construct returned and Desmond was back on his horse. "Next?"

"_The ruins._"

"Gotcha. Have fun looking up Tunguska or whatever." He rode west, passing the gates to San Gimignano and to the old Roman ruins. He could see afterimages of Ezio, limping over the structure to spy on the Pazzi and the Templars, and an earlier version of him exploring the ruins to scope the place out. He firmly reminded himself that he was _Desmond Miles_, and that he had work to do.

The glyph was in one of the half-covered passageway, the massive stylized butterfly symbolizing chaos theory, and he scanned it. **"Keep on Seeking, and You Will Find,"** the title red, and Desmond saw another collection of pictures he had to select from. The hint read: "First plucked from a tree guarded by a snake, its powers perform miracles. Then, worn across the ages, torn asunder, hidden under a sea of RED, reconstruct the timeline."

"So what am I looking for?" Desmond asked.

"_Snakes,_" Rebecca suggested.

"_Red,_" Shaun added.

"_Cloth,_" Lucy offered.

"So helpful..." Desmond followed all of their instructions, red cloaks and snakes both, and saw a new image: S.P.Q.R. in a small wreath of leaves. "Even less helpful," he called out.

"_Senatus Populusque Romanus: Roman government in ancient times,_" Shaun said, but even as he started explaining Desmond saw a new tidbit of information: a portrait of the Crucifixion with the increasingly common text: "They took it."

ID: Piece of Eden 66 - Shroud

"Missed the connection on this one," Desmond said.

"_Oh... Oh! Wow,_" Rebecca was saying. "_In the Bible, they say that Jesus was risen from the dead, and wasn't there a Shroud of something-or-other that people thought was his death-wrap or something? Doesn't that mean the Templars stole _that_ as well?_"

"No," Desmond said, frowning as the ruins respawned in front of him. "Uncle Mario... he has a story about something he called a shroud. He told Ezio about it once... I think it was one of the memories we fast-forwarded through."

"_I'll flag it and look it up,_" Lucy said. "_Next location is Santa Maria Assunta._"

And so Desmond rode up to the city gates and dismounted, familiar with the city because of the months Ezio spent waiting for Jacopo de' Pazzi to show up. He frowned as he wandered up the steps and over roofs. It was so _long_ ago that he - Ezio - had been here. The disconnect was enormous as he looked up at the towers. "How many years have I covered as Ezio?" he asked, coming to the large square in front of the church.

"_About eight years._"

"Shit that's a long time. And in only... what? Four days?" The summer he spent with Altair hadn't been nearly as long, and he realized that Ezio had gone from being younger than him to almost his age. How much longer was he going to stay with the guy? As an ancestor, he had to have kids _eventually_, and didn't people get pregnant young in this day and age? He shook his head, climbing to the roof and finding nothing before backtracking to the ground and finding the glyph, a pair of pagodas, in a narrow hallway.

"He wanted to stop the cycle," Sixteen's voice filtered through, "to tell the secret. Shit. I've got to keep thinking through the headaches..." **The Inventor** spread across Desmond's vision, and then came the document.

_From Nikola Tesla:_

_The economic transition of power without wires is of all-surpassing importance to man._

_By its means he will gain complete mastery of the air, the sea and the desert. It will enable him to dispense with the necessity of mining, pumping, transporting and burning fuel, and so do away with innumerable causes of sinful waste. It will make the living glorious sun his obedient, toiling slave._

_It will bring peace and harmony to Earth._

And beneath it was the signature of Nikola Tesla. After it Desmond watched the world light up per this guy Tesla's idea, and as it lit up he saw a photograph of an oddly shaped building: Nikola Tesla's Wardenclyffe under construction, c. 1902. Nothing happened afterward, and Desmond sighed. "And here I thought this glyph just _might_ be easy," he muttered, scanning the picture. Many quotes from the guy this glyph seemed to be centered about the photo:

_"Fights between individuals, as well as governments and nations, invariably result from misunderstandings in the broadest interpretation of this term."_

_"Money does not represent such value as men have placed upon it. All money has been invested into experiments with which I have made new discoveries enabling mankind to have a little easier life."_

_"Misunderstandings are always caused by the inability of appreciating one another's point of view. The best way to dispel ignorance of the doings of others is by a systematic spread of general knowledge. With this object in view, it is most important to aide exchange of thought and intercourse."_

"This guy sounds almost like an Assassin," Desmond said, eying the last quote. "Was he?"

"_Don't know_," Lucy said.

The picture morphed into a _freaky_ photograph labeled Nikola Tesla c.1900. A man sat calmly in the middle of a room while some kind of science fiction machine was _exploding_ electricity all around him, roots and branches and infinite strings of light arcing this way and that, like some kind of amusement park attraction.

"He found it in Croatia. They would find it in his lab," Sixteen said. And hidden in the picture, Desmond saw another string of words:

_He used it to develop a bottomless source of energy._

And in the man Tesla's lap, was a Piece of Eden, Apple number Four.

"_Wait, so does this mean this Tesla guy used the Apple to help create electricity or something?_" Rebecca asked.

"_More current events I don't know about. I'll add that to my list,_" Shaun said.

"And if we're lucky, you might actually know something before the next glyph," Desmond muttered.

"_I heard that_."

"Dick."

San Gimignano spawned around Desmond, in the abbey, and he exited to the main square. Lucy directed him to Torri dei Salvucci. It took him a minute to remember it was the twin towers of the city, both practically on top of each other. Pushing through a throng of lifeless constructs, he hoisted himself up the face of a building and walked between the two towers, wondering which one it was on until he realized it was immediately in front of him. "Sweet," he muttered, switching to his Eagle Vision looking to the eye-in-a-triangle that topped the pyramid on US currency.

**Titans of Industry** came up and was quickly replaced by a letter.

_From the Laboratory Thomas Edison:_

_Dear Mr. Morgan,_

_ A serious matter has come to my attention. Nikola Tesla plans to use PE4 to create an information network across the entire world. And if that weren't bad enough, he intends to allow access to it for free! Imagine the masses spreading knowledge amongst themselves instantaneously. That would make everything we intend to do much more difficult._

_ You must cut off all funds for his experiments at once! In case you get cold feet, I'll have you know he wants to make electricity free as well, thereby putting us out of business._

_ I've already begun slandering Tesla in the press. Just reallocate his funding, and I'll take care of PE4 myself._

_ Sincerely yours,_

_Thomas Edison_

"Morgan? Like J.P. Morgan?" Desmond asked. One of those corporate bastards that had tanked the economy and then took gobs of money from the government as a bailout?

"_Its founder, I bet,_" Lucy replied. "_It wouldn't surprise me if he or any other corporate mogul was a Templar, given Abstergo._"

"Peachy," Desmond retorted. "And Thomas Edison? If Tesla found electricity and sounded like an Assassin, but we credit our power to Edison and he references here about Piece of Eden Four, I'm guessing he's a Templar. Or associated."

"_And our baby Assassin can form logic. Well done!_"

Desmond decided not to dignify that with a response.

"_Sounds like these kind of people don't care for the internet much,_" Rebecca said. "_Maybe it could have been made at the turn of the century, maybe not, but its here now._"

"_And there are countries that try and limit access to the internet, like China,_" Lucy added.

A map appeared in front of Desmond covered in lights that slowly went dark. And as the lights went out, sentences appeared. Headlines.

_ Edison, creator of DC electricity, accuses Tesla's AC current of electrocution!_

_ J.P. Morgan revokes funding Tesla's Wardenclyffe project!_

_ Edison creates "electric chair" to prove danger of AC current!_

_ Edison proves danger of AC current by electrocuting an elephant on camera!_

And then an old film started rolling, scratched and dirty and poorly lit in places, as an elephant was led forward, and then, after a film cut, was peaceably standing there before it went completely rigid. Desmond couldn't help but shudder.

Subject Sixteen spoke with great anger, "He wanted everyone to know the secret. To set us all free. They used it to drive him insane."

A photo of Edison holding light appeared and Desmond easily recognized it as a Piece of Eden. From there, a flurry of pictures appeared, including an aged newspaper clipping. Another lock cipher appeared, and Desmond studied the pictures to line up the lock and input the code. With the code, another file unlocked. The header was old school, and another titan of industry was named.

_Henry Ford_

_Dearborn Mich_

_Dear Mr. Edison,_

_ I wanted to thank you for letting me make use of PE4 all these years. Among several things, I was able to convince the workers I was raising their pay to $5 a day when, in fact, I gave them a pay cut. But, I had to let PE4 go. Per instructions, I've shipped it to Europe._

_ H. has it, so I assume the war will begin as soon as he can take over. We'll let him have his fun (Lord knows, that kind of purge will be good for Europe) and then end it with a bang, as planned. Out of all the chaos of war a new order will emerge! I've enclosed a picture from Florida of you, me and Firestone. We should attempt to spend more time on the golf course this summer._

_Yours,_

_Henry Ford_

"H? Who the hell is H?"

"_If I were to guess, given current events, I'd say Adolf Hitler,_" Shaun replied.

"Ford had connections with _Hitler_?"

"_Or his associates did_."

"And this purge, they mean the Holocaust? Jesus fucking Christ."

There were times Desmond _really_ didn't care to hear these secrets. Desmond knew that some of the things Altair had seen were horrid in the true sense of the word. Terrible. Ghastly. What Garnier did or what Majd Addin did ranking tops on the list. What Altair saw and fought against was that evil that didn't have a word to truly describe it. People used words like horrible, terrible, ghastly, to describe things that were simply an inconvenience, and the over usage made the words somehow less applicable to what their definitions were _truly_ meant for. The Holocaust was an act of evil, genocide, that defied definition. _And the Templars had planned it!_ This wasn't just one madman named Hitler who went off the bend on power and bigotry to murder millions of Jews, Romani, Catholics, leftists, or anyone else who dared disagree; this was organized, planned, and ready easily decades before it even occurred.

There were no words.

Desmond sucked in a breath. "Next glyph?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"_That's it for San Gimignano,_" Lucy replied quietly. "_There are two more in Forli._"

Desmond nodded and climbed back down, glad to exit the city, get on a horse, and just ride. He backtracked to Florence, using a distance-eating canter and stayed at the steady pace as he traveled through the mountains, admiring the Animus's ability to craft such beautiful scenery. He paused once in a while on his horse, looking down the valley to the small village at the base, and tried not to think of the horror of the Holocaust and what it meant that the Templars had been involved and planned to end it with a nuclear bomb.

He arrived in Forli and it looked as dismal as the winter when Ezio had passed through. The skies were cloudy, everything was damp and dirty, and the floods were settled against the city walls. Desmond noted that the water had no motion, only token splashes if he or the horse walked through it, making no ripples that spread.

"So where in Forli?"

"_San Merculiale Abbey,_" Rebecca answered.

Desmond nodded and entered the city. The abbey was easy to find as it was across from the equivalent of City Hall and the glyph itself was also easy to find as it was in the courtyard of the abbey, Hebrew letters glowing in the dull city. Desmond switched to Eagle Vision and heard Subject Sixteen getting more and more frustrated with his confusion.

"It happened in 1908. Or was it 2008? 1708? I can't remember!"

** The Calvary** came on screen, followed by a letter to Nikola Tesla by an unknown party.

_Nikola,_

_ We know what they have done to your lab, to your career. It may be too late to set things right, but you can help prevent something far worse. They have taken an object from the Czar, and are conducting experiments in Tunguska to figure out how to use it. Before they do we must take it from them, or the world will be in danger. We do not ask you to risk your life, just that, when the time comes, you use your electricity to destroy the object._

_ Regardless of your decision, know that we admire your work greatly and will bear you no ill will._

_ We respect your freedom above all else._

"Guess he wasn't an Assassin," Desmond murmured. "Yet."

"_That's the Piece of Eden Rasputin must have taken from the Czar_," Shaun said. "_Tunguska? More to the research list._"

A map of Europe appeared with a bunch of places listed all out of order, like Alaska or Madagascar, which definitely _weren't_ European. Desmond touched Tunguska. A picture of Tesla appeared and a staff, and Desmond dragged the staff to Tesla. An explosion filled his vision, one that looked like a nuclear mushroom cloud.

"Damn," he muttered. "So Tesla destroyed a Piece of Eden and it created an explosion like _that_?"

"_There's a lot that's unknown about those Pieces of Eden,_" Shaun replied. "_Well, the Templars clearly know more, but we don't know what._"

"This is post-Industrial Revolution, right?"

"_This will make a hell of a morning meeting tomorrow. Sixteen's got information aplenty, but doesn't explain a damn thing._"

"Right," Desmond said. "So where to next?"

"_The Venetian outpost,_" Lucy answered. "_The lighthouse in particular._"

"Gotcha."

Desmond left through the northern gate and found a horse to ride off to the outpost where Ezio had needed a pass to board the ship for Venice.

He approached the lighthouse and rode around it, looking for where the glyph might be before spotting it and starting his climb. The glyph this time was a symbol mountain with a moon (or sun?) and Desmond reached for his Eagle Vision to see **The Bunker** appear. After that came another set of images and a wheel to try and match up.

"Well shit, this looks like a nightmare," Desmond commented. His eyes were drawn immediately to the number four on the pontoon and the on the building. And while lining them up was easy, figuring out the blank spots was not.

"Suggestions?" he asked.

"_Try rotating through? If they're in order you should be able to guess what comes next,_" Rebecca suggested. But as Desmond cycled through, he realized it was a hopeless endeavor.

"_Fake symbols, random order, very clever, Sixteen,_" Shaun said distractedly as he continued to study.

Desmond stared at them as well, trying to figure it out.

"_To quote Archimedes, Eureka!_" the historian and self-proclaimed whiz with decryption finally shouted. "_Desmond, it seems the number match up to the number of angles in each symbol. Zero has a circle, no angles. One was originally lined up with the less than sign, which only had one angle. For two_..."

"I get the idea," Desmond replied, already inputting the numbers. A letter appeared from Abstergo.

_Abstergo Corporation_

_May 02, 1945_

_ The war is over; we are in control, as planned. But, a slight concern has arisen. I received word from our agents in Berlin. H. was supposed to execute his double inside the bunker and meet C. at the rendezvous point with the Piece of Eden._

_ It's been three days and he still hasn't appeared. Something must have gone awry. Please send instructions._

"Okay," Desmond said. "So H is Hitler, who the hell is C?"

Shaun, however, had started swearing.

"_Shaun_?" Rebecca asked.

"Churchill_!_" Shaun growled. "_Winston Churchill, that we all think of as a bloody _hero_, was a Templar agent? That man got us through the Blitz, kept hope alive, forecasted the threat of Germany long before anyone ever believed him! Really, is Sixteen sure of all this?_"

Desmond shrugged. "If Churchill and Hitler both were in on it, want to bet that dear old FDR was as well? And Stalin? They were all the major leaders of the war, right?"

Shaun just started growling out impolite words and talking about the _current events_ he'd have to look up for the morning meeting tomorrow.

Desmond was about to respond, but Subject's Sixteen's voice filtered out with repressed anger.

"They engineered the _war_, they engineered the _peace_, but they weren't going to get away with it. Find our mark."

A picture captioned, _We watched the exit from above, he didn't see us coming_, appeared with a picture of some sort of mansion with strange structures in the foreground.

"_That's the bunker! That's where Hitler and his wife committed suicide!_" Shaun gasped.

"And here I thought you didn't know 'current events'," Desmond muttered. He saw the Assassin symbol on the corner up by on of the rooflines, and it looked photoshopped in. Sixteen's work no doubt. He tapped the symbol and the picture changed to a demolished picture of what was likely the home, the Assassin's symbol clearly visible on one of the chunks of debris. Desmond tapped on it and another passcode was found, opening another tiny video clip.

Shaun grumbled more about how, thank you, he _did_ have a standard public school education and no matter how one looked at it, the Blitz and World War II _were_ a large part of what was covered.

"Yeah, yeah," Desmond replied. "Am I off to Venice next?"

"_No,_" Lucy replied. "_Shaun's to-do list is long enough for now. Besides, you do need practice with combat. You can free-run around the warehouse all you like, it's not practice with fighting._"

Desmond shrugged. "Sure thing."

It had been Lucy's turn to cook dinner that night, not that Shaun paid much attention to it since he was buried in his research and whining about having to use the internet for information and its unreliability, given that all the materials he'd brought with him were for Renaissance Italy. Rebecca eventually was fed up with his nose being in the book, so to speak, pinched his nose and force-fed him some salad. An argument predictably followed and Desmond couldn't quite hold back the laugh. Lucy, next to him, was far more restrained in her laughter, but there was a distinctly bright smile on her face. Desmond took that as a good sign.

The next morning, however, Desmond didn't wake to smiles and laughter. Instead, he woke to an argument.

This wasn't the first time, of course. By giving up the extra bed in Shaun's room and taking the bed in the main living area, he was privy to anything and anyone who came wandering in. (Rebecca, night owl that she was would often wander in to tinker on the Animus or grab a snack, and Lucy always came in impossibly early to start work.)

The argument was between Shaun and Rebecca and sounded very much like an oft-repeated iteration. Apparently Shaun couldn't make coffee to save his life and refused to be shamed by it as none of them could make him a _proper_ cup of tea.

"I'm always making my own tea, you lot should make your own coffee!"

"Shaun! I've shown you a million times how to set the coffee maker! It's just a few buttons and filling a machine! Nowhere near as complicated as your tea strainer and milk-sugar ratios!"

"Do you mind?" Desmond muttered, sitting up and rubbing his face.

At least he didn't have another freaky dream.

"Sorry, Desmond," Rebecca immediately apologized.

Shaun, naturally, didn't. He just scoffed and went back to his work.

Still, Desmond was up. It was time to shower at least. Shaun, stuck-up prick that he was, was already dressed for the day, while Rebecca was still in her nightshirt. Lucy came in yawning, dressed but still needing very much to brush her hair.

"What's the yelling for?" she asked, a hand running through her blond locks. "Did we lose another team?"

"Nope," Desmond replied, standing and stretching. "Just an argument over who the hell should be making the coffee."

Lucy blinked. "Maybe I should go back to bed," she mumbled.

"No need, fearless leader," Shaun replied. "Morning meeting should be in about fifteen minutes."

"Geez," Desmond grumbled. "That's barely time for a shower."

"Well maybe you should have gotten up earlier."

Desmond knew better than to get into an argument. He showered and dressed and was deliberately late as he cooked breakfast (pancakes and eggs) that ended up drawing everyone to the kitchen since it smelled good.

"A guy who can cook!" Rebecca exclaimed after practically swooning over the pancakes. "Where have you been all my life?"

"I'm no chef."

"Still better than me!"

But Rebecca's energy and cheer had infused everyone again, and some were still licking their fingers as they sat down for Shaun's presentation.

"Tunguska, a river in southern Siberia, and at the turn of the last century, an extremely isolated region with almost no people for miles around. Even now there's very little population in the area, but back in 1908, something odd happened," Shaun gestured to the plasma and old black and white photographs of flattened trees appeared. "On June 30, at approximately 7:14 a.m., local time, there was a midair explosion of catastrophic proportions. Approximately two thousand square kilometers of forestry was completely flattened. Natives and Russian settlers reported seeing a column of bluish light about as bright as the sun that moved across the sky. About ten minutes later came the shockwave and sound, which should give you some idea of the distances we're looking at for the nearest eyewitnesses.

"Looking closer, the atmospheric pressure given off was strong enough to be recorded back home in merry old England. The next few days saw night skies in both Europe and Asia 'aglow', though no one explains what that means. But here's the interesting thing: no one knows what caused the explosion."

The pictures on screen showed several unrelated things. Asteroids, comets, black holes, nuclear bombs, cartoonish aliens, Desmond couldn't see what purpose all the images were there for.

"Common accepted theory is that it was a meteorite or comet of some kind impacting earth, though what it impacted five to ten kilometers off the surface of the planet is unanswered, or how it exploded that high up in the first place. Other theories with holes about the size of Heathrow have causes ranging from aliens, nuclear bombs, and black holes. But that's not the most interesting theory I found."

The pictures all faded to the background and another picture came forward, one more familiar.

"Hey, that's from one of the glyphs!" Rebecca said.

"Wardenclyffe," Lucy nodded. "Tesla's dream of wireless energy."

Shaun smiled. "One interesting theory was that an experiment by dear old Nikola Tesla was experimenting in Wardenclyffe during one of Admiral Robert Peary's North Pole expedition. Not much is said on the subject, but then we get to the documents left by Subject Sixteen.

"The Assassins found out a Piece of Eden was being taken to Tunguska for experimentation and went to take care of it."

"And the note to Tesla asking for help," Desmond said, sitting back as this new information settled over him. Assassins didn't keep records of their accomplishments, too risky for anyone to find and there was no guarantee of destruction before enemies got their hands on them.

"Precisely," Shaun nodded. "Tesla may have been able to stick it to Templar Tommy Edison after all, though he couldn't exactly gloat about it. Looking at this another way, Tunguska isn't the only explosion without a known cause. Though at the estimated ten to fifteen megatons of yield, it is by far the biggest. Makes one wonder, doesn't it, yeah?"

They sat together in silence for a moment, the reality of another aspect of the Templar's ambitions settling around them.

Desmond was the one to break it, standing and stretching. "Well, let's get back to work."

* * *

Failing in saving the _Doge_ was bad enough, but Ezio's public escape from the Palazzo Ducale in the early morning rush was worse. _Everyone_ knew his face and his cloak and his hood, and for a solid week he couldn't even look out a window of Antonio's Palazzo della Seta without sparking interest of the city guards. It was decided very quickly to get him out of Venice all together.

After a quick and heated debate with Antonio, Ezio chose to escape to Milan instead of Monteriggioni. The decision hurt him deeply, he hadn't been home in years, but the Templars would no doubt be out for his blood and expect him to run home, and so he chose the one city he hoped no one would think of: the home of Leonardo.

"Ezio!" the painter said in open shock when he saw his friend. "My God! You're alive!" Word traveled fast it seemed, and Ezio, exhausted from travel, sagged. Leonardo was quick to dismiss his apprentices and workers, shooing them out of his studio and opening a bottle of wine to soothe the young assassin's nerves. "Is it true?" he asked, curiosity overtaking propriety. "They say you killed the _Doge_."

The Florentine shook his head; leaning back and putting his boots up, weary. "I was trying to save him, Leonardo," he said slowly, reliving his failure, the look on the _Doge's_ face, the arrogance of Grimaldi. "But the truth matters little. I failed. And now I'm the most wanted man in Venezia."

"And so you come here and wait for life to settle down," Leonardo said, sitting on the edge of his seat, attentive. "Perhaps that is for the best. How long will you stay?"

"... I don't know," Ezio said, rubbing his face. "Leonardo, forgive me, but I've haven't slept in three days; I fear I'm poor conversation right now."

"Of course, of course; come, I'll show you to my room. I'll get a fire going and you can sleep there tonight."

"Leonardo I can't-"

"Sh-sh-sh! I won't hear a word to the contrary. Sleep, my friend, we'll talk more in the morning."

Sleep was fitful at best; Ezio dreamed of his family, the gallows, watching them swing from the rope, burying them, and of Giovanni expressing disappointment that he couldn't save Venice as he had saved Florence. The next morning left him almost as tired as when he arrived, but he put on a good face for his friend.

"_Grazie_, my friend," he said over breakfast. "I have something for you." He pulled out the loot he and Antonio had found from Emilio's _palazzo_, handing it over.

"Ohhh!" the blond painter said, recognizing the decorative boarders. "More of the Codex!" he snatched at the papers greedily, musing over them with the intense focus Ezio associated with his friend, and Ezio made the excuses when the assistants began to arrive, saying Leonardo was engrossed in a new puzzle. More then a few laughed, saying this was nothing new, and got back to work. It wasn't until dinner that Leonardo emerged from his own mind, a feeling of intense satisfaction that only solving a puzzle of such complexity could bring him.

"It's a new design, my friend," he said, his face bright and flush with excitement. "A mechanism for your wrist, but not a blade... In fact, it seems to be a kind of firearm, but as small as a hummingbird!"

Ezio blinked, unable to picture such a device. A cannon, as small as a hummingbird? "Is it possible?" he asked, incredulous. The weight alone would be astronomical!

"I have no idea," Leonardo said brightly. "Let's build it and find out!"

For all of October, Leonardo was in constant contact with several smiths in Milan, explaining his needs and assigning each smith with a different piece of the mechanism. Ezio in comparison worked his way through the rest of the Codex pages, reading Altair's philosophies and pondering their meanings.

_ "Why do our instincts insist on violence? I have studied the interactions between different species. The innate desire to survive seems to demand the death of the other. Why can they not stand hand in hand? So many believe the world was created by the hand of a divine power – but I see only the designs of a madman, bent on celebrating destruction and desperation. Our origins seem chaotic. Unintended. Purpose and being instilled solely by the passage of time. Imposed first by nature – and later men..._

_ "Man seeks dominion over all that he encounters. I suppose it is a natural tendency for us to aspire towards mastery of our surroundings. But this should not include other human beings. Every day more and more are pressed into service – by deception or by force. Others, though not so firmly imprisoned, are made to feel as if their lives are worthless. I have seen the ways in which men persecute women. Heard the cruel words hurled at those who come here from other lands. Watched as those who believe or act differently are made to suffer... _

_ "We discuss such things often – watching as we do from the spires of Masyaf. What can be done to stop this? To encourage tolerance and equality? Some days we speak of education, believing that knowledge will free us from immorality. But as I walk the streets and see slaves sent off to auction – my heart grows cold. When I see the husband hurl abuses and stones at his wife, insisting she exists only to serve him – my fists clench. And when I see children torn from their parents so that another man might profit – sent off to suffer beneath the desert sun and die... _

_ "...On these days, I do not think that dialogue will make a difference. On these days, I can think only of how the perpetrators need to die."_

It... was consolation, to a point. Altair's words made Ezio think in ways he never expected to, listening to a man hundreds of years past balk at the cruelty that was still pervasive in the here and now, to wonder how to change it, as was an Assassin's desire. Did knowledge truly free people to learn the truth? If even Altair vacillated, it made Ezio wonder if he, too, could ever hope to reach the ideal that Assassins strove for. He thought of Claudia, difficult to marry off because of her temper - why was she supposed to get married in the first place? He thought of Paola, and how she came to know his father, what had happened to her; he thought of prostitutes in general and the things they were forced to endure because someone paid them. Was that not slavery of a kind as well? In proof, even knowing Paola, he had never thought of it like that...

Men in power, would they always treat others as if they were beneath them? Was the previous _Doge_ any better than Marco Barbarigo? No, that wasn't a fair question, Marco was a Templar, and proven to be callous with human life.

Lorenzo de' Medici understood; his life was dedicated to making the people happy as he ruled over them, the patron of Florence. But he was but one man in a sea of men who abused their station: and that was just Italia. Was the _world_ like this? What hope did Ezio have?

The thoughts were daunting, and sometimes Ezio sought to avoid them all together.

* * *

In December, he received a visitor in the form of his uncle, Mario.

"_Nipote_! You are still alive!"

"_Zio_! Must you choke me every time we greet?"

"You are my _nipote, Nipote_, how can I greet you otherwise? I fear I cannot stay long, but I wanted to see how you were doing." They caught up for three days, Ezio explaining his failures and expressing his regret, Mario informing him of the new _Doge_ - as they had feared - but also saying that he was doing much work in Forli. Santino, irate upon learning Ezio had bought _Venetian_ armor, had spent months pouring over his work, and as a gift Mario gave Ezio a new set of armor, called Missaglias; and that there was news in Monteriggioni from the villa.

"Is it Mother? Has she taken a turn?"

"No, Ezio, though Claudia always makes sure to give her the feathers. No, my boy, it's good news indeed: your sister is getting married!"

... Married?

... _Married_?

His precious, innocent, perfect little _piccina_ was getting _married_?

Leonardo, in the room at the time, saw Ezio's rapidly changing expression and quickly gathered his notes and moved to a corner, out of the line of fire. "Who is it?" Ezio demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "She's not settling is she? She's not picking some _cazzo_ at random because she's twenty-five and running out of marriageable years? She's not picking some _figlio d'un cane_ like she settled for before?"

Mario, unaware of Claudia's circumstances in Florence, openly marveled. "Just whom do you think we're talking about?" he countered, incredulous. "Claudia doesn't 'settle' for anything but the best!"

"She almost did, once," Ezio said, remembering Duccio, and the disgrace he made even associating with Claudia. If she thought for one minute she should just get it over with...

"No, _Nipote_, this has been growing for quite some time, I'm told; though I'm hardly home enough to have noticed it. No, her lucky beau is Ulderico, your instructor and captain of Monteriggioni's guard."

... _Ulderico?_

Who swore bitterly and got drunk at every opportunity? To _his_ Claudia?

"You tell Ulderico," Ezio said in a low, menacing voice, "that if he does anything, _anything,_ to make her cry I'll kick his _cazzo_ so hard it will enter his ribcage - and then I'll take my hidden blade and carve it out of him before boiling it in sheep's urine and horse shit and feeding it to pigs. And that's just his _cazzo_."

Mario burst out laughing, not helping Ezio's mood _at all_, and slapped his nephew's shoulders, pride beaming from his face. The young assassin was _still_ brooding when his uncle left, muttering darkly and creatively. It wasn't until Leonardo asked what on _earth_ happened in the past to create such a vindictive protective streak in his friend, and Ezio haltingly explained Claudia's broken engagement, and of his release of Cristina. Men needed to treat their women right, with honor and respect and _fidelity_, and how he'd been forced to let Cristina go to another man because of the life that had been dropped on him. He would be _damned_ if he let anyone disappoint his sister as he had been forced to disappoint his love.

Leonardo was quiet for a long time, before asking Ezio to sketch Cristina, and slowly Ezio was able to work his way out of his mood.

At the end of January, the blacksmiths were done - and happy to be done from the sounds of it - and Leonardo assembled the piece. Ezio didn't understand remotely what the thing was, only that it added several pounds to his arm that he would have to account for. There was a thin, narrow barrel, ribbed inside for some reason, and Leonardo pointed out where small lead balls could be loaded, along with a mixture of powder used in smoke bombs, and Ezio was soon spirited away to a private courtyard with straw dummies to practice. Monteriggioni it was not, and he felt supremely self-conscious as he fumbled with the device, Leonardo at his shoulder helping him, holding his arm and explaining each step, before there was an enormous BANG that startled them both.

His hand had been burned from the explosion, but they both realized this was minor compared to what might have happened if his hand had been in the way of the barrel - the straw dummy had a hole ripped through it, straw and sand leaking.

It took a week to learn the right combination of powder, how to aim, and how to fire with relative ease. The noise was incredible, but the damage done to the dummies was impressive - particularly to Leonardo who explained to a very lost Ezio what that kind of damage would translate to in the human body. In the end, all he really understood was that it was _a lot_, and Ezio decided he loved his new toy.

"You've done me good, brother!"

"Of course," Leonardo said with confidence, rubbing his longer beard. Walking back into Leonardo's studio, his face turned serious, saying, "I've heard about this terrible new _Doge_ they've installed... Marco Barbarigo?"

Ezio nodded slightly. "That was their plan from the beginning."

"When will you return to Venezia?"

Taking a deep breath, Ezio sighed and turned to his friend. "Soon, Leonardo. I cannot allow Marco to do the damage he and his allies are planning."

The painter frowned for a long moment, his bright eyes studying Ezio, before shrugging his shoulders. "As you wish, just give me time to get packed."

"... Packed?"

"I'll come with you. If I tell people you are my assistant, smuggling you back into the city should be relatively easy. Besides, Lent is approaching, and that means Carnevale. This is the time when everybody goes without a face!"

"_Va bene,_" Ezio said, eyes lighting up at the prospect. "That's a great idea!"

"Of course," Leonardo said, confident once again.

In proof, the thieves of Venice _loved_ Carnevale, masks made thieving much, _much_ easier, and the guild at the docks was often empty as they roved the streets, picking pockets of planning heists or using the party to plant their stolen wealth on the poorest people they could find. It was Antonio's favorite time of the year, and he often said his yearly sacrifice for Lent was not meat or fasting, but rather giving up his mask at the end of it all and making himself wait until next year.

Ezio shared this story with Leonardo on the journey back to Venice, and Leonardo laughed, saying he had heard it before.

"I've seen him quite a bit lately at a, um, mutual friend's, in the Dorsoduro district. Ask for Sister Teodora."

The Florentine blinked. "...Sister?" He hadn't realized Antonio was quite _that_ religious. Nor Leonardo, for that matter.

Imagine his surprise then, when Leonardo flushed and coughed. "Well, um... In a way. Yes, sister..."

When they landed in Venice, Leonardo bought a pair of masks for Carnevale, several people already wearing them on and off, trying them out in preparation for the upcoming day of parties. Arriving at Emilio Barbarigo's old _palazzo_, Rosa greeted Ezio _quite_ fondly, causing Leonardo to cough and strike up a quick conversation with Ugo. After the biting and petting and fondling finished, though, the siblings said - with matching grins - that Antonio was off to see his "sister."

Leonardo coughed again, and Ezio was beginning to wonder just what he was walking in to.

He and the painter parted ways, however, Leonardo off to see his old studio and catch up with some friends, and Ezio made his way south. Wanting to look less like a mercenary and more like a noble, he wore a teal doublet and no weapons save his hidden blades and his dagger tucked into his boot. No armor, either, and he felt strangely naked without his equipment. Still, he dusted off his nobleman gate and crossed the many canals south.

The city was alive with activity, streamers, flags, and lanterns were being strung up in preparation for Shrove Tuesday, the day before Ash Wednesday and the start of Lent. Several people were dressed up as jesters and harlequins, showmen practiced their fire breathing or acrobatics, tables were lines up for feasts and stages popped up everywhere, along with colorful tents and stalls and other things only ever seen once a year. Asking around, Ezio found - of all things - a whorehouse was attached to the name Sister Teodora, and only then did Ezio begin to understand Leonardo's nerves.

After all, without Paola to satiate him anymore, the painter had to find his love somewhere. Ezio wondered if the man would _ever_ be comfortable talking about his sex life to him. Leonardo must have some _excellent_ stories of conquest under his belt. He resolved to cure the painter of that some day.

Inside, the twenty-six year old eyed the courtesans, all with crucifixes around their necks - and interesting addition as it lead the eye down to the low cut corsets. Alluring for both the male and female whores but especially the females. Ezio was now accustomed to seeing people fornicating in the front lobby, and didn't mind the grunting and groaning and clenching he heard in the various rooms as one courtesan led him up to a particular room. Inside was the distinct, sharp tenor of Antonio, and Ezio debated coming back later, but the prostitute guiding him smiled and said it would be fine.

Antonio sat in a chair, utterly naked, and was sipping a glass of wine while long, slender fingers played with his manhood. Attached to those fingers was a delicate hand, and attached to the hand was a woman in a habit with a cross and her breasts completely exposed. Watching strangers was one thing, watching _Antonio_ was another, and Ezio politely cleared his throat, removing his mask.

"Ezio!" Antonio said, the purse of his lips at the interruption melting away. He stood, unabashed and walked up to greet the man. "Ezio Auditore!" Ezio stepped back, not quite interested in embracing a naked man in even the most innocuous of ways, and it was only when he did so that Antonio seemed to realize his lack of attire. Nonplussed, the thief walked over to a bed and began grabbing his clothes, still extolling platitudes. "Teodora, meet the most... ahem... talented man in all of Venezia!" Pulling up pants, he quickly added, "Not as talented as _me_ in certain... _aspects_, mind you, but he's a good man to have around."

Ezio turned, still a little embarrassed at seeing Antonio, to the woman, who was now more covered. "_Madonna_," he greeted, before seeing the crucifix and the habit, and the deliciously low neckline that hinted at the mere glimpse he saw moments ago. "Ah! 'Sister' Teodora..." He glanced over to the thief, still getting dressed. "I never imagined you as a religious type."

Antonio openly laughed at what appeared to be a time-worn joke.

"It depends how you understand religion, my son," Teodora said. She had a beauty mark on her cheek, and a perfectly defined collarbone, and deep, soul-dark eyes. "It's not just men's souls that call for soothing."

"Indeed!" Antonio said brightly, now fully dressed if more than slightly rumpled. "Come! Join us, Ezio! Have a drink! Meet the ladies!"

The Rosa della Virtu did not have a back courtyard the way Paola's did in Florence, but they more than made up for it with a dining hall in the kitchen, closed to customers. It was a long table, flanked with benches, with silverware and food already set up. "My girls are very busy during Carnevale," Teodora said, "And so we make sure they can eat when they can. Now, let us say Grace." She led them in prayer - Ezio's first prayer in _years_ - and they broke bread and wine, simple fair. "But," Teodora explained, "It is more than appropriate given it was the Lord's last supper, and that we are to give up much in anticipation of that last supper."

Teodora was off-putting, to say the least. Ezio turned to the thief.

"Antonio, I trust you know why I'm here."

"I imagine to rid Venezia of Marco Barbarigo?" the thief answered before sipping his wine. He gave the young assassin an incredulous look. "But really, Ezio, we did this once already! And this new Templar _Doge_ is a bigger _culo_ than the last. He's instituted all of Emilio Barbarigo's plans; the merchants are all under one banner and have to pay a huge tax just to sell merchandise here in Venezia, this added to the rent for space, import and export taxes, usage fees if they do not own a stall, and all of it at astronomical rates. The rich, _they_ can afford it, and buy off the servicemen to get out of paying it, but the poor? They're lucky if they turn a profit after everything is said and done! Never mind that he can't leave the _palazzo_, and we all saw what happened last time you snuck in."

"Yes, except..." Teodora said slowly, "for tomorrow night. Marco wouldn't dare miss Carnevale."

Both men openly blinked. "How do you know this?"

In lieu of answering, Teodora expanded on her point. "In fact, he's throwing the biggest party of them all, but getting in won't be so simple. You'll need a golden mask for entry."

"Is that all?" Antonio asked, already grinning at his most beloved accessory of February. "I can forge one in only a few hours.

"Except keep in mind," Teodora interrupted, "each mask is numbered."

Antonio was crestfallen.

"Fortunately for you, I have an idea. Let's see if we can't _win_ you a mask."

But, before she could outline her plan, there was a high-pitched shriek upstairs and a flurry of activity, footsteps banging over their heads. Teodora was up even before the quick Antonio and Ezio, darting to the lobby just in time to see a thief of some kind run full tilt out the bordello.

"One of yours?"

"No."

"Murderer! Butcher! He sliced Lucia and stole her money!"

That was all Ezio needed to hear, and he was off like an arrow, bolting out the door and following the disrupted flow of the crowds. The chase was pathetically short, without his armor Ezio was perhaps twice as fast, and the thief realized this quickly, barreling into a cluster of courtesans dancing for coin and gripping one by the throat, pulling out a dagger and holding it to her throat.

"Don't come any closer," he threatened, "or I will carve up another one! Don't make me kill again!"

The girls backed up in terror, the one in the thief's grip already crying, and Ezio held his ground, trying to figure out how he could forestall the upcoming slaughter.

"Get away from me!" he shouted. "It wasn't my fault! She laughed at me! She _made_ me do it, stupid _bitch_."

No throwing knives, no way to disappear without the madman seeing it, no way to get close... But then inspiration struck, and Ezio lifted his hidden blade, taking careful aim. Not the chest, too much risk of hurting the girl, not the arms, he didn't trust himself to make a shot like that yet, the head...?

"You think holding your hand up is going to stop me? They _all_ need to die! Every one of them! The _make_ me do it! They _deserve_ it!"

Ezio fired, and everyone startled at the explosion, uncertain what had happened or where it came from. Many people began to run, but the mad thief fell, his face a mess of blood and brain matter. The courtesan, also covered with flecks of blood, screamed and ran back to her girls, taking her away quickly. Unparalleled damage, Leonardo had said. Ezio looked at the body, at the mess. He had _certainly_ been right.

"_Requiescat in pace,_" he said softly, before disappearing into the crowd.

Back at the brothel, Teodora and all the girls were circled around the dead girl, Lucia, and prayed through their tears, slowly taking a linen and placing it over her face, clasping her hands over her chest.

"Did you get him?" Antonio asked softly.

"Yes."

"Why is it wherever you go, trouble follows?" the aristocratic thief demurred, before stepping up to Teodora and placing a hand on her bare shoulder.

The nun/prostitute turned watery eyes to Ezio before her face closed off. "You have our gratitude, Ezio; but for now, I have work to do."

"I understand, _Madonna_," Ezio said, and he and Antonio left the brothel, slowly winding their way to Palazzo della Seta and its gothic architecture.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Desmond! He snuck up on us. Meh, that's just explaining more glyphs. The information dolled out is actually quite interesting, we had never even HEARD of Tunguska before AC2, and didn't even know what it meant until researching the glyphs for writing this fic. One thing the writers do a great job of, is weaving together this pseudo history and connecting it all together. And wasn't there a comic about a Russian assassin? Great times. Also note, we've put a cap on what Shaun does and doesn't know about history. Funnily enough, there's just so much of the stuff out there that it's impossible to know all of it. We sort of assume Shaun's specialized in something - possibly the Renaissance, though that would be too convenient - and has to research the rest. He didn't get all those ancient looking tomes in his workstation from a local Barnes and Nobles, after all.

Ezio the Dim resurfaces. He tries hard, but he just can't conceive of the fact that Leo's not quite like him. Also note his reaction to learning Claudia's finally getting married. It'll only gets better later. Trust us. We're also starting to shift his perceptions about women. Well; not quite shift them so much as make him actually think ABOUT women. Altair brings up a long list of good points, and Ezio needs to start to understand just how privileged he is just because of his gender so that he can recruit female assassins in brotherhood. It's gotta start somewhere, right? This will (hopefully) only be perpetuated by Teodora. Oh, and perhaps someone else he meets next chapter. Wonder who it could be...

And in AC3 new: ZOMG the jail sequence! The Homestead wedding! Squee; we're having so much fun!

Next chapter: Carnevale. Need we say more?


	18. Death of a Doge

**Part Eighteen: Death of a Doge**

The next morning Ezio, Antonio, Rosa, and Ugo all made their way south to the Rosa della Virtu. The doors were closed, and locked, but after knocking Teodora stepped out, adjusting her habit and greeting Antonio with a soft kiss. "We will be closed until tonight," she said in a low voice, her contralto thick from a long night. "Were that I could give them more time to mourn, but I suspect you will need us tonight, and sometimes work can be most diverting."

"It will be fine, love," Antonio said softly. "I'm bringing my own to this party as well." He kissed her again.

"Children don't like seeing their parents fuck each other," Rosa said, making a face. "Even if I _am_ grown up and fucking myself."

"_Rosa_," Ugo moaned, but Antonio and Teodora seemed to take it in stride. Together, the five of them walked deeper into the district, Antonio dealing with his "children." That left Ezio with the nun/prostitute, and he squirmed slightly, uncertain what to make of her.

"What is it, my son?" she asked, apparently as intuitive as Paola. Ezio wondered if it was a gift of whores, but remembered his mother was just as astute, and assumed all women were all-knowing. "You want to ask me something?"

"I do," he said, not a little awkward. "Forgive me, but why is it you wear a nun's habit if you aren't one?"

Teodora gave a short, bell-like laugh. "Well, whoever said I wasn't? Indeed, I am married to the Lord."

"... And yet you are also a courtesan? You run a bordello. Don't nuns take a vow of chastity?"

"So?" Teodora asked, turning to give him a raised eyebrow, a coy smile on her mouth. "I see no contradiction. How I choose to practice my faith, what I choose to do with my body, these are my choices to make." Ezio remembered Altair and the Codex pages, the assassin's revulsion of the persecution of women, and his thoughts of Claudia and Paola. The choice of faith, the choice of body, belonging to everyone, even women... He nodded, something akin to understanding at last entering him. Perhaps everything really _was_ permitted...

"Like many young women I was drawn to the church," Teodora continued, "but grew disillusioned by the 'believers' of this city. Men hold God only as an idea in their heads, not in the depths of their hearts and bodies. Men must know how to love in order to reach salvation, and few indeed learn that surrounded by other men, reading scripture, and condemning sex as sin even as they label it a marital duty. My girls and I provide that education to our congregation. No church would agree with me, I realized, so I created my own." She shrugged her bare shoulders, slightly bony and very beautiful. "It may not be traditional, but men's hearts grow... _firmer_ in my care."

Ezio grinned. "Among other things, I'm sure," he replied.

"Laugh all you wish, but I have seen men worse than that thief be transformed by my work, and become gentle to their lovers, understanding how much more satisfying fornication can be when filled with their hearts as well as their loins."

"I can believe it, Sister," Ezio said with a sad smile, thinking of how making love to Cristina was all the sweeter than any of the one-night stands he'd done in the years since.

"Just a long as you understand," Antonio added, slowing his pace to join their conversation, "That the only love she has is to _me_."

Everyone laughed.

Eventually, their walk entered Squero di San Trovaso, filled with streamers and flags and torches for the evening and other preparations for Carnevale. San Trovaso traditionally was the square used for building and maintenance of gondolas, but had been repurposed for the most festive time of the season. Up high, strung on ropes spanning the square, spinning fireworks were being set up with colored lights that would bring ambiance that evening when the true festivities began. People were munching on the food that was at various stands that were already opened to make some extra coin during the break between events for the afternoon.

A light rain started to fall, but no one paid it any mind, merely adjusting his or her finery. Several performers were plying their trades with various small crowds, showing off acrobatic skills or breathing fire, or pantomime. But the largest crowd was by an announcer for the events, standing on a small podium, calling out to the crowds. Ezio and his group eased closer.

"Ladies and gentlemen, come one, come all! The Games of Carnevale are about to begin! Do you have the courage to compete for as grand a prize as this?"

A beautiful lady walked on stage, holding up the golden _bauta_ mask and showing it to the crowds, slowly turning from one side to the other, and crouching once in a while to let those nearest get a closer look.

The announcer continued, "This year, like every year, the Golden Mask will provide entry for one, and only one, to our most beloved _Doge's_ personal ball! Who would not desire such an exceptional reward? Come! Compete! Whoever proves themselves champion in each of four games today, shall be the _Doge's_ personal guest tonight!"

To the side of the stage, the red-hooded Silvio Barbarigo was scanning the crowd as the lovely lady delivered the golden mask back to him.

"You'd best get to it, Ezio," Teodora whispered in his ear.

"Our first event is one of the events for the Golden Mask!" the announcer said, pumping energy into the crowd. "It's a new contest this year! The rules are simple! Outwit your opponents! We will meet at the square over the canal to begin! Be smart and strategic and the Golden Mask may yet be yours!"

People were already starting to go across the canal, likely to see what the set up of the event was and start planning in advance. Ezio melded easily into the crowd and observed that the square had become a sheep farm. The whole square was backed with sheep, bleating and trying to maneuver around one another in the unusual city environment. Streets and alleys were blocked off to prevent the sheep from escaping and in the center of the square a small stage was set up with another announcer.

Ezio waited there, noticing some of Antonio's thieves working the crowds, while others were by him, likely to participate as well.

"A horrid smell," Rosa said by his side.

Ezio shrugged. Monteriggioni was surrounded by farmlands, he was used to odd smells when traveling the countryside. Frankly, Venice smelled worse.

"Ladies and gentleman!" the announcer shouted. "Our first competition for the Golden Mask is to capture the flag! Amongst these sheep, five hold golden flags hidden in their thick wool; the competitor who can find the most will be our winner! You can find the flags on the sheep or steal them from other competitors! Just outwit everyone and you'll be a step closer to the _Doge's_ grand party tonight!"

Ezio scanned the sheep, looking with his sharp vision, and easily picked out the flickers of gold of the sheep with the flags. The rain started to slack off and the announcer shouted for them to begin.

Some competitors clearly had never worked with animals before. They tried to simply flip a sheep around to find the flag. Unfortunately sheep could be stubborn and when so assaulted, would try to get away. This lead to several people falling down in the packed square. Others, hearing that they could take flags from the competition, tried to unsubtly shadow anyone they thought might have a chance.

Ezio found it great fun to see how the contestants were trying to look in the sheep's wool for the small triangular flags. Rosa would let out curses of every kind of color once the sheep slipped away from her. And Ugo faired little better, though he was quieter in his commentary. The other thieves seemed more intent on finding someone who actually _had_ a flag, but so early on, no one had found one yet.

The young Assassin came to the first sheep with a flag and knelt beside it, giving the sheep plenty of time to see him and scent him. He moved slowly, letting the sheep see everything he was doing, as he patted it down. Tied on a foreleg, hidden by the heavy winter wool, was the flag, which Ezio eased off and slipped into his doublet. To throw off suspicion of the contestants watching him, he turned to another sheep and did the same thing, and another sheep.

Then he stood, frowned, and looked around, appearing upset. He spied the next sheep he needed and eased forward, patting down the occasional sheep on his way. Ezio retrieved his next flag easily and the third. Of the five flags, he now had a majority. As he made his way to the fourth flag, another contestant found it and let out a victorious shout. This then lead to a tug-of-war, as another contestant was intent on taking the flag.

Ezio decided to leave that be and went after the fifth flag. He retrieved it easily, hiding it in his doublet and looked at the still bickering pair. "Ugo?" Ezio whispered, the young thief the closest to him.

"Yes?"

Ezio smiled. "Give them something to think about."

Ugo smiled as well, storming over and accusing the both of them of stealing a flag from him. With all three now in a shouting match, it was simplicity itself for Ezio to brush by and grab the last flag.

He kept searching sheep at random until the announcer called time.

"Any with a flag! Please step forward!"

Ezio stepped up to the stage and pulled out all five flags. The crowds that were watching cheered, and Ezio turned to some of the ladies in the crowds and winked or blew kisses. Teodora had given an outline of the events and Ezio planned that if all the girls and women for the ribbon contest were already interested in him, he'd have an easier time.

The announcer held up Ezio's flags. "We have a winner! You've protected your flags. You've proven yourself a strategist without peer and inch ever closer to victory!"

Ezio stepped back down into the crowds, blending in once more.

"Ladies and gentleman! Our next contest does not relate to the Golden Mask, but is a welcome breather! Acrobats, one and all are welcomed in the San Trovaso Square to show off their prowess and show who's the better athlete! And don't forget later, we're rolling pigs downhill in carts, won't that be fun?"

Ezio debated briefly on showing off, but decided against it. He didn't want to stand out too much, after all. So he followed the crowds, picked up food and went with the flow of the various events around the district. The skies overhead were clearing, and it looked like it would be a lovely afternoon and evening.

At about mid-afternoon another competition for the Golden Mask was arranged. It started at one end of the district and the announcer was welcoming everyone from atop his stage.

"Welcome, welcome! Are you ready to test yourselves with a game of speed and endurance? Many challenges lie in your path. The game is simple, but finishing it, near impossible! Start when you're ready. The first contestant to beat the course record is one step closer to the Golden Mask! A race to the Carmini and back again! The way had been cleared, but remains treacherous for any daring enough to try!"

Ezio smiled. He was without armor, indeed, without many of his weapons, and that much lighter this would be the simplest of victories.

Contestants were lining up in front of the stage and Ezio joined them, staying to the front. To the ladies of the crowd watching, he made sure to meet the eyes of several and offer his most charming smile.

The announcer shouted the beginning of the race and Ezio was off like a shot. Antonio, who was also competing, let out a curse as Ezio quickly outpaced him and practically flew down the street, hopping crates and tables used as obstacles with ease. The onlookers all down the route shouted encouragements and were very entertained as he hopped from a tall stack of crates to a second story balcony to avoid other obstacles and then hopped down and rolled to start off running again.

From behind him, he thought he heard Antonio, "When'd you get so fast!"

But Ezio was at the mark and picked up the flag showing he'd made it before turning and sprinting to the oncoming pack of contestants trying to scramble over the obstacles. Ezio didn't even bother going through them. He went over them, staying on crossbeams and lattice until he was past the bulk of the crowd and went back to street level.

Ezio arrived back to the announcer as Antonio, the next fastest of the contestants, was only halfway back.

The announcer's face was slack, his jaw wide open. "I've never seen anything like that!" he whispered.

Ezio could only smile.

Once all the other contestants had staggered in, Ezio was pulled to the stage again.

"The winner! You've proven yourself the fastest and strongest in Venezia! You are now one step closer to the grand prize!"

Ezio nodded, smiling once more for the ladies and stepped of the stage, blending into the crowds once more and following the flow from one event to the next. As evening continued to approach, people started dancing, occasional fireworks went off, and Ezio started looking around for a meal. He was crossing over a canal when he spotted Leonardo, whom he hadn't seen at all yet.

"Ezio! I was hoping to see you tonight," Leonardo greeted, all bright smiles.

"I don't have much time, but it's good to see you," Ezio said, embracing his friend. "The _Doge's_ party starts very soon. I will need to be there and have yet to secure an invitation."

The painter nodded. "I've seen you winning events! Well done!" Ezio smiled at the compliment, but Leonardo's face went serious. "Nevertheless, I have news. I hear Cristina Vespucci is in Venezia for Carnevale. Weren't the two of you close?"

Ezio's own smile had disappeared and he looked down, regrets and longing welling up strongly. "Once..." he admitted, displeased with how choked his throat felt. "It was a long time ago."

Leonardo seemed to understand Ezio's mood. "Perhaps it would not have been better not to tell you. She's with her husband. She may not be too happy to see you."

Manfredo Soderini, whom had promised to take care of Cristina. Lorenzo occasionally sent word of the couple. Manfredo had kept to his promise and there was no hint of gambling. Indeed, he appeared to be the doting husband. Ezio was glad and he was far more removed now from when he was younger. He made a point to avoid being with married women, but Cristina...

She still bore his heart.

And for all that he'd been with plenty of women and that it _could_ remove the loneliness, it wasn't the same.

Maybe...

Just maybe... he could have one night with Cristina. Not even a night, but one kiss. Something to remind him of what his life was once like.

So Ezio looked up to Leonardo and smiled warmly. "No... It's wonderful. It's Carnevale! With this mask, she need not even know it's me! I know just the way to draw her attention... Many thanks, my friend."

Leonardo didn't look convinced, but nodded. "Come! I think you were going for food and I just found this little stand with some of the best pheasant I've ever tasted!"

After a good meal and uplifting conversation with Leonardo that Teodora somehow joined (telling Leonardo that some of her best were waiting for his return, which the painter blushed profusely at...) Ezio took his leave of Leonardo and headed to the next event. One he'd been waiting for all day. And now had a different reason to look forward to it all together.

"Welcome, gentlemen," the host greeted from his stage. "Whether you win or lose, this will certainly be your favorite game of the day! This may be the easiest challenge yet - or the hardest! A game of charisma and charm! Ladies?!" The women in the audience all giggled, several hiding behind their hands or masks, turning to whisper to one another. "Here's how the game is played," the announcer continued, "all the ladies in the district have ribbons. Your job is to obtain them. Whoever has the most before my hourglass runs out is one step closer to winning the golden mask!"

With great drama, he turned the hourglass and stayed behind it, looking to the crowds. The men quickly dispersed, but Ezio stayed still, waiting. Once all the competition had spread out, he put on his best smile and eased up to the first group of ladies he saw, who were eyeing him appreciatively and whispering back and forth behind their hands.

"Lovely ladies," he greeted, "could I trouble you for a ribbon?"

"Look," one of the women giggled. "It's that fast racer! Oh, I wanted to see him up close!"

"Look at that strong chin!"

"Look at the long hair!"

"Feel his arms!" another girl gasped, her hands encircling his bicep.

They all giggled together and Ezio held out his arms for them. Once they'd all had a chance to see his build, (one girl even being bold enough to grasp his backside), they all offered up their ribbons.

Ezio gave a sweeping bow. "My greatest gratitude is to each of you," he said, giving another winsome smile.

They all giggled as he backed away, still in his bow, and headed off to the next cluster of women he saw.

Each group Ezio came across was eager to fall for his charms after his earlier stunts and he easily had thirty ribbons within very little time. Several of the girls confessed that they'd been saving their ribbons for him, and even more stated their names and where they worked, no doubt eager for him to pay a visit later on.

Ezio checked in with Rosa, who said that none of the other men were having as good luck as he was.

So Ezio smiled a more wistful smile, and went in search of another lady, one far more specific.

Cristina was well dressed, embroidered with intricate stitching of a woman who was well off. She wore a slight collar, heavily starched, and her beautiful brown hair had not changed, the pins doing nothing to hide its silky finery. Her sleeves wore perfect bows. She was...

She was beautiful.

After so long, now twenty-five, she had not changed a bit; she was just as beautiful, just as enticing, and Ezio lost his voice all over again; just like when they had first met. He felt nervous, bold, shy and brave all at once, and he realized his heart had not changed a bit. He still belonged to her, even after all this time. He had been a fool to leave her, even if had been the right thing to do; the best way to protect her, he had been a fool. Perhaps he was a fool even now; entertaining the idea of rekindling their romance, but she was just so _awe-inspiring_, and dreams long dusty filled his mind. They were still young, after all...

He took a deep breath, flushed with a racing heart; he felt seventeen all over again. He pulled out a bit of parchment and wrote a quick note, asking to meet her at a small alley he had found earlier that had a romantic view of the canal, a place to view fireworks in private, and signed it under Manfredo's name. He was grinning, like an idiot, but he did not notice it as he calmly walked up and placed the note in her hands. Startled, she looked around to see where it had come from, but he had disappeared into the crowds.

Now to await her at the rendezvous...

There was still a half an hour before the announcer's hourglass was up, but Ezio was confident that he had enough time, and within minutes of his arrival the beloved Cristina appeared, looking at Ezio's silhouette just as a few fireworks were lit behind him.

"Manfredo!" she said, confused and surprised and happy all at once. She was _gorgeous_. Ezio took her hands and lead her into a simple twirl, spinning her around in a loose imitation of dance, leaving Cristina to giggle slightly. "When did you get so romantic...?"

But Ezio didn't want her to use _that man's_ name, and to quiet her he kissed her, remembering the feel of her lips and feeling the skip in his heart. Oh, _oh,_ he had missed this... Love meant so much more when the heart was in agreement with the body, as Teodora had said, and he felt better than he had in _years_. He could remember Florence, Federico trying to teach him to flirt and his hopeless first attempt at talking to her; he could remember the dates, the dancing, the laughter, the soft kisses and the _magnificent_ nights. He remembered his father agreeing to arrange a marriage before he died, her concern when he had split his lip after fighting Vieri de' Pazzi. Just from her _lips_!

They pressed against a wall, two of their hands clasped together, and Ezio explored some more, tracing the curve of her waist - she hardly needed a corset it was so small, and enjoying the shiver that passed through her. Her legs were still firm, and he pressed his hand between them, caressing her thighs through the fabric of her well-made skirts, and moaned into the kiss. It was just like before, _just like before,_ before everything had collapsed around him. He could remember the games they would play in bed, tickling and giggling and exploring each other as they learned about their bodies, what they liked, coming into their sexuality and realizing the power they had over each other. The pillow talk, the dreams of the future, the number of children Cristina wanted and the worry Ezio had of being a boring old banker, the respect they both had for their fathers, Cristina's brother Amerigo and Ezio's contingent of siblings.

And he remembered her tear-stained cheeks, helping him bury his family in the cold December rain, and her unacknowledged bravery of standing by him, helping him through the worst day of his life.

And he remembered their last kiss, in an alley like this, passionate and needy and hungry and _desperate_, and determined that it be enough to last him the rest of his life.

A fool indeed. That would never last him.

_This_ would never last him.

He was chasing a dream, a phantom, an illusion that had died the moment he learned she was engaged, and doing this, _this_...

Something in his body changed, and Cristina pulled back, panting, wide-eyed, as she stared up at him in dim recognition. Quick as lightning she reached up and ripped the mask off, and her recognition turned to shock.

"Ezio...?"

And then it turned to _anger_.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here!? How dare you-?"

"Cristina..." he said quickly, softly, "It's alright."

But she backed away, far away from him, and the distance suddenly felt impenetrable. "Alright!?" she demanded, her voice hoarse, loud, _furious_. "I haven't seen you in _eight years_!"

"_Sì_..." Ezio said slowly. He looked down, ashamed. "I was afraid you wouldn't come if I... just asked."

Doing this, _this_, it only brought back painful memories, and he should never have done it in the first place.

"You're right, I wouldn't have!" Cristina was shouting, hateful tears in her eyes. "Ezio... The last time I saw you, you kissed me in the alley... and then left me behind to get married!"

And this would have been the exact same thing, a kiss in an alley and leaving her all over again. A fool. A _fool_...

But he had to explain. It was the least he could do. "It was the right thing to do," he said softly. He stepped forward, but she only backed away further. "He loved you."

"Who cares what _he_ wanted?" Cristina shouted, irate. "I loved _you_!"

Loved... past tense. Even as his heart swelled with the realization she would have broken her engagement and followed him, it broke just as quickly as he recognized the truth: the past was in the past. He had made a terrible mistake, and he had no hope, no hope, of trying to undo it.

The moment hung between them, Cristina shaking in anger, and Ezio frozen in shame.

"... You had your second chance..." she said finally, wiping her mouth. Erasing any taste of him, removing everything he had just put her through. She looked him straight in the eye, fiery gaze that stopped his heart even in his pain. "Please, Ezio... Don't ever find me again."

And she left.

It was several minutes before Ezio could pull himself together, dimly wiping his eyes with his laced sleeve and rubbing his mouth as well. He almost forgot to put his mask back on, and with a heavy heart he stalked out of the ally, trying to force himself to think about the _Doge_, and Venice, and saving it for the sake of Antonio and Teodora and Rosa and Ugo and... and the memory of Cristina, and what he had so _foolishly_ destroyed.

He couldn't face any other of the girls and women; didn't have it in him to flirt or charm. So he went to the stage, showing the announcer and the judge his ribbons.

"Remarkable," the announcer whispered, counting out the ribbons again.

The others came in, getting tallies of their ribbons as well, and Ezio couldn't even take heart in the fact that he had once again outclassed all the other contestants.

"We have a winner!" the announcer shouted. "You have more ribbons than any man here! You've proved yourself a favorite of the ladies! And are now one step closer to the greatest prize of all time!"

The most Ezio could offer the crowds was a wry half-grin.

"There is but one more competition for the Golden Mask!" the announcer continued. "In an hour, we'll see who amongst you is the strongest! For now! Enjoy the festivities! Relax, get some food from our many stalls! The final event will be down by the canal at the San Trovaso Square!"

Ezio disappeared into the crowds, seeking to find a dark alley to climb and find solitude with the moonlight above the happy festivities.

It was not to be.

Teodora came up beside him and looped an arm in his.

"You are troubled deeply, my son," she said.

Ezio waved it away. "It's nothing important, Sister, though I appreciate your concern."

"I disagree," she replied. "Your body is fine, as is your mind, but I find your heart is bleeding."

Ezio shook his head. Women truly were impossible to understand. "It's nothing. You needn't worry, I'll make sure to get that golden _bauta_ and get to the _Doge's_ grand ball."

Teodora let out a sigh. "My son, have you not heard anything I've explained to you? My ministry is to show all how God is in all things, even those we chose to condemn as sin. Tell me, my son, is it sin to love someone? To show them how much you love them? Is passion wrong, even if it leads to sorrow?"

"Sister..."

"I've watched you, Ezio. I watched you in all the events. You are a marvel to see and are always kind and generous to any who admire you. Yet you keep a distance."

Now that was getting a little to close to the truth.

"I appreciate your kind words," Ezio said, "but I've other things to focus on."

Teodora stepped in front of him, stopping him.

"No, Ezio, you are having a crisis of faith," she replied. Reaching up she cupped his cheek. "Sweet, tender boy. You love that girl with all your heart. But you did what you thought was right and now you've lost her. You've never truly come to terms with that."

Ezio pulled away, not liking that his very private moment with Cristina was seen.

"I really must take my leave, see what the next contest is about."

But Teodora held firm. "Such heartbreak can devastate a man. Many who have come to my congregation are such as you, having seen a loved one snatched away or be in a position where they are unable to be together. I can provide distraction, but only time can heal such a wound."

Ezio looked away, because he had just reopened the wound with his foolishness, and it felt deeper than ever.

"If I ever need the comfort and succor you and your ministry provide, I'll be sure to tell you, Sister Teodora. For now, I've work to do."

The sister bowed her head and disappeared into the crowds. Ezio did the same.

He arrived at San Trovaso and joined the other competitors. He noted that he did not see any of the thieves Antonio had in the other contests, but figured it was because Antonio believed that Ezio had enough wins there was no question who would receive the golden _bauta_.

"Welcome, fighters!" the announcer shouted. "We come, at last, to the final competition for the Golden Mask! The game is simple. There's only one rule: no weapons. Fight until you are the last man left standing. Will it be you? Or you? Hmm? Who will win the Golden Mask?"

A brawl.

Ezio allowed himself a smile. There really wasn't anything he needed more at the moment.

All the contestants entered into the lowered area of the dock, spectators crowding around, including several of the women from before that picked him out of the crowd and cheered for him. The announcer shouted out, "Begin!" and everyone was punching and kicking and slamming into one another.

Ezio, for his part, spent his time dodging. He didn't know what he'd be facing for guards at the _Doge's_ party and didn't wish to wear down his strength. Especially where he had no armor to soften blows.

So he ducked and dodged, circled and swept under.

"Another contestant down!"

Ezio stayed on the move, never staying still and using all the abilities that Ulderico (the _bastardo_, how dare he marry Claudia?) had taught him. And when he saw the chance, he would shove another contender into a fight and let them have at it.

"Two down at once! It seems the numbers are starting to thin!"

Truly, all Ezio wanted to do was go all out and pound every one of them into submission and he was confident that he had the skills to do it. But despite his heartache, despite the anger and frustration boiling inside of him, Ezio _refused_ to be impatient as he was with Jacopo. He would do this the smart way.

But that didn't stop the blows he did make any less devastating.

"We're down to the last half dozen! Truly the skills of these fighters are awe-inspiring!"

The last five and Ezio were looking at one another carefully. Two were like Ezio, having dodged and waiting out as everyone else fell. The other three were bruised and bloodied.

Ezio looked to the closest, whose eye was already swelling shut, his mask discarded as a result. Ezio stepped forward and landed one punch solidly in the jaw and the man toppled, no more strength left.

One of the fresher fighters, who hadn't done much, came at Ezio as he was busy, but Ezio easily grabbed the fist and rolled the man over his shoulder and into the spectators, who had no problem pulling him out of the ring.

That left two more fighters and one other dodger. The two fighters glanced at each other and both came at Ezio, but he ducked under one swing, grabbing the man's back and landed three solid hits to the unprotected middle. As the other bloodied fighter came at him, Ezio hefted the man he'd just pounded into him, sending the two to the ground. While they were trying to detangle from one another, Ezio crossed the dock to the dodger, who yelped and started to back up. Ezio tackled him however, and once on the ground, landed his knee in the man's groin before punching him solidly in the neck.

The last fighter had finally broken away and landed on Ezio's back, cheers ringing from the crowd. Ezio shifted his weight, sending them both rolling across the deck and quickly got to his feet. His opponent also stood, though much more slowly. Ezio waited, not wanting to do any more damage to a man who could barely stand. But the man yelled and charged forward. With a small sigh, Ezio grabbed the man's head and brought the momentum down to his knee, sending teeth flying.

Ezio himself was barely winded. He looked around the crowd, and he saw Silvio with Dante. Ezio kept them in the corner of his eye, intending to appear to be looking at the small crowd of women who were cheering for him as he offered them a charmed smile he didn't feel.

"Looks like this one thinks himself some kind of champion," Silvio grunted. "Go on, Dante. Show him how sadly mistaken he is."

"Ah, ladies and gentlemen! It seems we have one more contender!"

Dante dropped to the ring, fresh and large and hulking. Ezio took a moment to steady his breathing and call up reserves of strength he hadn't planned on using until he got to the party.

The fight with Dante was far more brutal. The hulking figure didn't seem to feel any pain, even when Ezio landed a devastating blow to a man's most delicate anatomy. He ducked and dodged Dante's heavy fists, but the man was like a rabid dog, latched on a bone he wouldn't let go of. While Ezio got in many good strikes, Dante just kept coming.

Ezio kept dancing around him, making Dante more and more frustrated, whittling away with a rain of light blows that accumulated over time, perhaps the best strategy for the mountain of a man.

"Just stay _still_!" Dante finally yelled, landing a punch to Ezio's face, his nose started to bleed profusely as he rolled back and away. Half the crowd cheered that the upstart was going down, the other half booed in outrage.

Ezio blocked it all out and looked at Dante again, wiping the blood from his nose. The brutish man was advancing so Ezio dove forward, rolling and knocking Dante off his feet, then, sitting on Dante, punched him repeatedly in the face until, at last, the large man yielded.

The crowd cheered.

"Is there nobody else to challenge our man in the ring? Do we have a winner?"

Ezio looked around, panting more heavily and bleeding, and his eyes homed right in on the announcer. Silvio was whispering in his ear and there was an exchange of money.

"Ah! We have combatants!" the announcer shouted, as four city guards dropped in, all built for chasing and agility, good for keeping up with an enemy and getting the attention of other guards who were following.

And all four of them drew daggers.

The crowd all booed immediately, one even throwing some meat at the guards.

Ezio paid it no mind. "So that's how it's going to be, eh?" He ran forward, plowing into the lead guard and sending him flying to the ground before twisting and grabbing the hand holding a knife and shoving it into another guard's stomach, away from anything truly vital. Now behind the back of the man he had just used to stab another, Ezio grabbed the man's neck and used that as his leverage to flip the man over Ezio's own shoulders, pounding him face first into the dock.

The last agile was side by side with the first agile and both charged forward. Ezio pranced around them, but they dodged all his fists. The crowd was still booing the guards and one of the bits of flying food hit one of the agile's right in the face, an opportunity for Ezio to duck in and hit the man firmly in the throat with his elbow before whirling way from the last guard, who was looking nervous. Ezio took a step forward and the guard seemed to decide running was the better idea and leapt up to the crowds and ran.

Once more at the stage at San Trovaso, Ezio, bloodied, stood with the announcer. "Ladies and gentlemen! The games of Carnevale have come to a glorious conclusion. Come see our winner claim his Golden Mask!" Ezio waved to the crowds, who were all cheering his success and he spied Teodora and Antonio in the crowds, along with Rosa and Ugo. Out of the corner of his eye, Silvio stepped on stage, holding the golden _bauta_ high for all to see. "Our winner has proven himself the fleetest of foot," the announcer continued, "the strongest of champions, the wisest strategist, and clearly a favorite of the ladies! With four games won fair and square, the winner of the Golden Mask is-"

Silvio coughed. Loudly.

"The winner of the Golden Mask is... Dante Moro!"

The crowd immediately booed, outraged.

Dante himself was guided on to the stage, his face a bloody mess, and looking confused as to what had just occurred. Still, he took his mask.

Silvio passed off the mask and smiled, patting Dante's arm. "Congratulations. We'll see you this evening."

Dante didn't reply, just held up the mask and smiled.

An hour later, Ezio was pacing back and forth in Teodora's front room of her bordello. The sister was wringing her hands and Antonio was glaring at a wine glass in frustration. Tension was flooding the room as Ezio tried to think of anything, _anything_, that could fix this.

"I'm sorry, Ezio," Teodora said quietly. "We could not have known Silvio would cheat as he did."

Antonio scoffed, the very motion spilling his wine. "_You_ should have," he said, pointing to Ezio. "Damn Templars."

Ezio ignored them, trying to think of _something_. He _wouldn't_ fail this time. He _wouldn't_!

A courtesan came rushing in, dark hair spilling out of her habit, "Sister!"

"Carlotta," Teodora greeted.

"You told us to let you know if we saw that _rottinculo_ who stole the Golden Mask!" Carlotta replied. "He's on his way to the _Doge's_ party!"

At last, opportunity. Bloodlust seemed to fill Ezio as his eyes narrowed. "I will go. I can catch him before he arrives and take back the mask."

"How?" Antonio demanded. "By killing the poor _stronzo_?"

Ezio nodded solemnly. "Yes. You know what's at stake." And Ezio _refused_ to fail again.

"No!" Antonio shouted. "If you kill him, they'll cancel the party and Marco will retreat back into his _palazzo_, where's he's been hiding ever since he was installed as _Doge_. We'll have wasted our time again!"

The comment struck Ezio hard, as the previous _Doge's_ face filled his mind. Dammit, he was letting his impatience get the better of him again!

"Steal the mask instead," Antonio said. "Quietly."

Teodora nodded, looping her arm with Antonio's. "My girls can help. They're already on their way to the party, hired by the _Doge_. They can help you distract him while you acquire the mask."

Once more, others had to tell Ezio what to do because he was so damn _foolish_. When would he grow up?

"_Va bene_. I can do that."

After all, he'd been practicing his thieving for years now. He may not be on par with the Fox, but Ezio was by far better than when he had first learned.

Ezio headed out, Carlotta with him to guide him. Ezio set a quick pace but Carlotta kept even with him, and pulled him aside from time to time when she spied something he didn't.

When they reached the area Carlotta last saw Dante, they slowed down, the crowds getting thick. Ezio switched to his special sight, letting Carlotta guide him around as he looked for the telltale trace of gold that would be Dante. Around him, he saw the pure white of people who would aide him, all in the form of courtesans who were flirting with all the people as they headed to the grand party where they were to entertain. Carlotta grabbed a few of the girls, quietly explaining what was to be done and Ezio gave them some coin in thanks as they continued amongst the throngs of people. It was getting later and later, and the gala would be starting soon.

Where was Dante?

Ah, there he was, in a courtyard straightening his cravat and stepping out.

Ezio pointed Dante out to the courtesans and all of them quickly crowded around Dante.

"Ooooh, such a strong man!"

"Look at his face, he took a beating and must have come out the victor!"

"Those muscles look so strong!"

"And those legs!"

Dante stared at them blankly for a moment, before smiling through his bruised face. He seemed a man of few words, but he did clap and admire the courtesans, who took to dancing to see if he could "favor" one of them with his apparent strength.

With Dante distracted, Ezio slipped up behind him and pulled the mask out from under Dante's arm, where he had been keeping it while admiring the courtesans who danced for him.

He nodded to the courtesans, signaling his success, and one, Carlotta stepped forward.

"Such a strong man!" she demurred, stroking his arms. "That courtyard is private, yes?" The other courtesans all squealed in agreement.

Dante chuckled as he was lead back into the secluded courtyard he'd exited from and Ezio turned back to the crowds heading to the _Doge's_ grand ball. He waited until he was near the gate when he put on the _bauta_. The lack of a mouth-hole was strange, his chin felt moist with each exhale in the chill February air. The mask was heavier than his old one, too, but he adjusted quickly.

A pair of guards manned the bridge leading to the party, but they took only one look at the golden mask and bowed. "_Buona sera, signore._"

The square was filled with people in the late night. Men and women of richer clothes than any Ezio had seen in the city dancing about; the richest of the rich were here. Dancing swept over the square, violins and horns and other strings only faintly heard over the stomping of feet as men and women circled around each other, clapping and bowing and swirling. Fire breathers and other entertainers kept to the edges of the crowds, pleasing to those who were tired of dancing, and if those two mild entertainments were not pleasing, there were the _other_ entertainers.

"You made it!" Ezio spun around, startled, to see Teodora coming up to him, a look of relief on her face. Quickly she wrapped an arm around him and led him into the crowd, smiling and whispering. "Marco is on a boat, just off shore. He's set to make a speech in a few minutes."

"I understand," Ezio replied. "What about you?"

"I'll help keep you invisible, but my girls will be kept busy," she said softly, turning around. Ezio followed her gaze to the bridge and saw the large, hunkering Dante storming in, his face covered in lipstick and his eyes utterly furious. Several guards flanked him, and with a nod from Teodora at Ezio's arm, a pair of courtesans slid up to Dante. "My," one said in demure tone, "You look as though you've been on quite an adventure."

Wincing, Ezio hoped the women would be all right as he made his way deeper into the crowd. A quartet of courtesans spied him and immediately joined him, offering platitudes and compliments even as they helped him navigate the perimeter of the dance square. Their delicate fans twirled around him, much leg was available to see, and more than one of the courtesans bent down, displaying ample cleavage or even conveniently falling out of her corset to distract the guards from the fact that they were on the arms of an unwelcome guest. Ezio could see that every prostitute with a cross on her bosom performing similar feats - even the male courtesans, whom Ezio was not expecting to see, kept several people busy. He had thought Florence the only city really tolerant of people like that... or was that his Florentine prejudice rearing its head again?

Eventually, however, Ezio was able to make his way to the canal and the ship docked there.

On the deck, a man, an announcer, came up and raised his hands.

"_Signore e Signori_! I present you, the beloved _Doge_ of Venezia!"

And, in rich blues edged and ermine, white beard floating down his chest, Marco Barbarigo appeared. "_Benvenuti_!" he said expansively to the applause, walking up to the edge of the decking. He did not step on the gangplank, did not descend to the crowds. "Welcome, my friends, to the grandest social event of the season! At peace or at war, in times of prosperity or paucity, Venezia will always have Carnevale!"

"_Merda_, he's not leaving the boat. I will have to swim out there..."

Teodora, still at his elbow, shook her head. "I wouldn't try it. You'd be spotted right away."

Impatience was beginning to fester. His target was _right there!_ "Then I'll fight my way out there-"

"Wait!" she hissed, her smiling face broken as she gave him a grave look. Ezio stayed still. "We'll think of something," she added softly.

"Tonight we celebrate what makes us great! How bright our lights shine over the world!" Behind Marco, several fireworks shot up into the air, bright colored lights and loud concussive explosions filling the air in a dazzling display of excitement.

Teodora stiffened, reaching up to touch her cheek in surprise. "That's it!" she said in inspiration. "Your pistol; the one you stopped the murderer with. It's as loud as those explosions. Time it right and you'll walk out of here unnoticed."

For several seconds, Ezio stared at her blankly, and then looked at his wrist. "I like the way you think, Sister," he said with a grin, and soon he was fumbling his pockets for another lead ball and loading it, filling with eastern black powder and lifting his arm up to take aim. The first wave of fireworks had ended, and as he planted his feet and prepared for the recoil, he waited for the next wave.

"We all know we have come through troubled times, but we have come through them together! And Venezia stands a stronger city for it," Marco was saying, pacing the deck of the ship. "Transitions of power are difficult for all, but we have weathered the shift with grace and tranquility. It is no easy thing to lose a _Doge_ in the prime of his life. And to the cruelty of an assassin who still hides in our midst!"

Ezio stiffened but held firm. He would not miss his chance. He gazed at the boats out on the canal, wondering what they were waiting for, what signal set off the next wave.

"Indeed, we all loved Mocenigo dearly. He was a friend to us all, and he shall be missed, but did any of us truly love his policies? Did we feel safer under his watchful gaze? Did we believe in the road he was guiding us down? Or were you beginning to be afraid, like I was? Afraid that Mocenigo could not see clearly; that he was not prepared for what was to come?"

Ezio stilled, lowing his hand slightly. What was this? What was Marco talking about?

"Well, my friends, I'm here to tell you: I _can_ see down that road! I _know_ where we're going! It's a beautiful place, and we're going there together! The future I see for Venezia is a future of strength, a future of wealth! We shall build our fleet so strong, our enemies shall fear us like never before! We will expand our trade routes across the sea, bringing home spices and treasures like we've never dreamed! And I say to those who stand against us: be careful of what side of the line you choose, because either you're with us, or you're on the side of evil! And we will harbor no enemies among our friends. We _will_ hunt you down, we will root you out, we will _destroy_ you! And Venezia will always stand the brightest jewel in all of civilization!"

... What kind of rhetoric was _that_? To grow so powerful and wealthy that all enemies would be eradicated; that those who did not think like Barbarigo and his ilk would be routed out and destroyed? Was that the Templar way, to eradicate those to dared to think differently? How could a city be powerful if everyone thought the same thing? How could Florence prosper as it did if all the different artists and thinkers and philosophers that Lorenzo de' Medici cultivated didn't bring up new ideas, debate and challenge and _evolve_? How could there be-

"_Ezio,_" Teodora hissed, and the Florentine realized the next wave of fireworks had been deployed. Cursing, he shook his head and took aim.

His firearm went off in perfect tandem with the fireworks, and Ezio watched as Marco grabbed his chest, blood blooming behind his hand.

"No..." he moaned. "It's too soon... I'm not ready..."

Ezio lowered his arm, watching the old man fall to the deck. "We rarely are," he answered softly. "Death be not unkind. _Requiescat in pace_."

Teodora quickly pulled him down and yanked his mask off, pulling him into a frantic kiss, hands exploring his body and startling the heck out of him. He tried to pull away but she only came on stronger, pressing her body against him. "Distraction," she breathed, hot air tickling his ear before she nibbled it. "So they don't suspect..."

Realizing the ploy, Ezio played the game, his hands roving over her, grabbing her ass and caressing her shoulder and curving around her hips. But doing so reminded him of another set of hips, and the very _different_ reaction to his exploration.

_"What the _hell_ are you doing here!?"_

_ "Ezio... The last time I saw you, you kissed me in the alley... and then left me behind to get married!"_

_ "I loved _you_!"_

_ "Don't ever find me again."_

Teodora sensed his change, and pulled away slightly, looking up at him with measuring eyes, before she scanned the guards, only just now beginning to shout orders. Licking her lips, she said, "Time to go."

"... _Si_."

Everyone was being pulled aside for questioning, but Teodora led Ezio to a group of her girls, and as one they all began crying and cursing and shouting, grabbing Ezio's arms and tugging him away from the party.

"What's going on?" A guard demanded.

"He is harassing my girls," Teodora said, back straight and voice cold. "I thought it best that we pray for him. Teach him proper... discipline."

"Hey, I need teaching, too."

"Shut up, you're on duty!"

"But can't we trade places?"

Teodora offered a demure smile, reaching up and cupping the eager guard's face, breathing onto his neck. "I will pray for you," she said softly. "And I will pray that your _wife_ forgives you."

"Ha! You've been caught even by a slut! I told you she has eyes everywhere!"

"No she _doesn't_, there's no _way_ that bitch could know!"

And the two guards continued arguing, oblivious as Teodora and her angry girls swept Ezio away in a crowd of skin and corset and curses. They kept the scene up for several blocks before dispersing; the courtesans off on other assignments that the Sister whispered to them, and soon the two were alone again.

"I am sorry," she said softly. "There was little else to do that could be convincing."

Ezio looked away. "No, _I_ am sorry. You were right. Cristina... she is... was... special. It took everything I had to let her go, and when I learned she was here tonight... I was trying to relive a dream. One I can't have anymore."

"Oh, my son," Teodora said. "A Florentine romantic. If she was not to be, then you will find another, of that I can assure you. God did not make this world so that only one man and one woman are destined to be together; he made it so that everyone could be happy, we only need the wisdom and the courage to find it."

It was a long walk back to the brothel, and Teodora left Ezio to his thoughts, many and varied as they were - so much that his feet were beginning to feel like lead when they arrived. Had he truly used up so much energy over the course of the day? Yes, between the contests and the assassination and the... emotional turmoil... he had used up a _lot_ of energy. Teodora swept inside, all the prostitutes, male and female, squealing and cooing at her arrival before turning their attention to the man of the hour.

"Beautifully done!"

"What a show! What a show!"

"A true hero!"

"Such a specimen, did you see his race? Or his fight?"

"Or his skill at the party, oh, Sister, I wish I was in your place..."

"Ah, the savior of Venezia!" The gaggle parted and Antonio, pale and aristocratic as ever, came in adjusting his belts - perhaps just getting dressed. "You are alive, and there are no bells ringing, I take it your work was a success?"

"_Si._"

He laughed, reaching over to wrap an arm around Teodora. "What can I say? Perhaps it was wrong of me to doubt you so readily. Now we'll see where all the pieces fall. We can hope the next _Doge_ won't have such disreputable connections."

"Enough of that now," Teodora said calmly, reaching up and brushing Antonio off her shoulder. She turned her luscious brown eyes to her latest project. "You've worked hard, my son. I feel your tired body in need of comfort and succor."

Antonio's eyes doubled in size, jaw dropping.

"Oh, Sister, don't keep him to yourself," one of the girls said. "I want to kiss him too!"

"... 'too'?"

Ezio, glad for the distraction, had no troubles playing along. "But I have such aches and pains, Sister," he said, reaching up and cupping her breast with his hand. He kept his gaze lecherous even as he eyed Antonio for his reaction. "I may need a great deal of _comfort_ and _succor_."

"Ezio, I told you-"

"Oh, that can be arranged."

"_What?_"

"Girls!"

And Ezio, realizing this hadn't been a joke to begin with, was lead away by the gaggle of girls, and his flabbergasted face met Antonio's, and both men were completely lost as to what had happened. Antonio was turning to Teodora, and that was the last Ezio saw as the girls dragged him to a room and begged him to join them in prayer.

He would never look at the Bible the same way again after that night, as they worshiped every part of his body, fingers to toes, with kiss and caress as they undr_essed him JESUS CHRIST why can't you guys fast forward this stuff!_

* * *

"Oh, come _on_, Desmond, we could make a _mint_ off of this."

"Speak for yourself. I like that he's respectful of this kind of stuff. Too bad _you're_ such a perv, Shaun. What do you think Lucy?"

"I think I'm staying out of this."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** And, for, like, the first time ever, we fit one memory in one chapter. Mostly. It's a nice, neat little package, and we were able to exercise more liberty than we have in a while. Some of the events are true to the time period, and others we vengefully made more appropriate and less "gamey." And oh yea, there was a Cristina memory. Hope you liked. Poor Ezio; he tries soooo hard to have his cake and eat it to, and it never works out for him. Also note that he finally understands (at least a little) about women and the role they have in the real world. If nothing else, he at least respects them now as viable allies.

The assassination itself was pretty straightforward and didn't need much modification.

And reading through the database in AC3 TOTALLY justifies us making Shaun a closet pervert in this fic. We feel vindicated. We have only two memories left - and so of course we're stalling wholesale and trying to get everything perfectly synched before we beat the game. Boo time trial naval missions and obscure optional objectives like tackle from above. Everything else is manageable, wth?

And the homestead funeral! (hope that's not a spoiler...) We teared up!

Next chapter: Bartolomeo. Need we say more?

Hope everybody had a Happy Thanksgiving!


	19. Death of a Barbarigo

**Part Nineteen: Death of a Barbarigo**

Ezio wrote quite a bit in his weekly letter to Claudia, asking her to forward part of it to Mario, heaven knew where he was. He talked about his encounter with Cristina and his idiocy involved, as well as some of the things Sister Teodora said (but decidedly not what she _did_) to help him through the loss. He shared some of his memories of their courtship, and emphasized to Claudia that if Ulderico did _anything_ remotely as bad as he had done to Cristina to let him know so he could put the _cazzo_ in his place.

But more importantly, (or at least, he _told_ himself it was more important), he asked Claudia to get Uncle Mario's thoughts on Marco's last words, the unshakable belief he had that under his hand Venice could be the powerhouse of the world and crush anything and everything under his feet. Did all Templars think that way? Was that why his father and brothers were killed, because they dared to think differently? Or was there some other purpose? Nine years after their deaths, and still Ezio was no closer to understanding the _why_, even as he slaughtered the who. What kind of world would it look like, under the Templar rule? Altair's speculations, hundreds of years past, why were they still so relevant?

A war about concepts... what was the assassin concept?

But the answer was obvious as soon as Ezio asked it: freedom. Where the Templars would grind everyone and everything under their boot, Ezio rather thought the assassins would allow men their freedom. Nothing was true and everything was permitted, Altair said, and that the world was an illusion, either to live in or to transcend. It was the freedom to make laws from rational thought and understanding of those around them, it was balancing the freedom of the individual with the freedom of the community, and it was allowing men to learn for themselves what this meant. The Assassin's stood for education, and peace in all things, where the Templars stood for wealth and power. Where the Templars would cut down their enemy, the Assassins would teach and lead by example, and try to make them friend.

Ezio paused in his writing, not certain where all of this was coming from, and apologized to Claudia for his ramblings before signing it.

It was after sending the letter, standing on the great wooden Rialto Bridge, that a thief darted up to him.

"Ezio! _Ser_ Antonio wishes to speak to you."

The Florentine nodded. "_Grazie_ for the message," he said, flanking the nimble thief and heading for the Palazzo della Seta.

"Ah, there you are!" the aristocratic thief said upon the Florentine's arrival. "Come, Ezio. You remember Agostino Barbarigo, soon to be _Doge_ of Venezia... thanks to you."

Ezio blinked, not realizing that Agostino was the next oldest city official. He offered an appropriate bow. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance properly, _Doge_. I am sorry for the loss of your brother."

With a beard whiter than his brother, Agostino shrugged his shoulders as if it was nothing. "He had it coming," he said off-handedly, his voice worn and weathered. "He was bought and paid for by the Borgia, a mistake _I_ have no intention of making."

"Come, Ezio," Antonio said. "We have much to discuss. Agostino brings news, and I'm certain you of all people want to hear it." The three men entered the gothic palace, Rosa and Ugo quickly falling in and flanking their father figure, and they sat around a table after Antonio stoked a dying fire. Wine was passed around, and everyone drew of it before they got down to business.

"We've located Silvio Barbarigo for you," Antonio said to Agostino. "He's fled to L'Arsenale."

The elderly man scoffed. "Ha! Fled? You mean occupied... and joined by two hundred mercenaries, no less."

Ezio frowned. "You're _Doge_ now. Can't you command them to stand down?"

Agostino shook his head. "The committee of forty-one has yet to confirm my ascension. And this little stunt of Silvio's has only made things worse. He has an entire army at his command! He's threatened to rain terror down if they do not do as he wishes, and the committee is 'convening a subcommittee to discuss the possible repercussions.' They're stalling, is what they are doing. Worse, they have no choice, because with L'Arsenale under his command he really does have control of the army - and more importantly: the fleet."

"Then help me to raise my own," Ezio suggested. "Meet fist with fist."

Antonio smirked, sipping his wine. "I figured you'd say as much. Bartolomeo d'Alviano is the man you seek. He and his men have little love for Silvio. He resides within the military district... southwest of L'Arsenale. You'd have met him sooner, but he's out in the country almost as much as your uncle, beating up bandits and unaligned thieves. He's also been keeping a tight reign - as much as can be established - on the ships coming in and out of Venezia when Emilio was trying to overtake the merchants. He's a good man and a good ally. If you need fighters, he's the man to go to."

"_Va bene_, I'll go and see him," Ezio said, nodding. Directions were quickly given to Bartolomeo's headquarters.

Standing, he left the meeting to the two powerhouses. Antonio no doubt had other matters to discuss about policies with the future _Doge_, and politics was something Ezio didn't have much of a mind for. Besides, he had what he had come for: Silvio Barbarigo.

Rosa followed him out. "You've gotten so busy," the voluptuous thief said. "And don't think I didn't hear about your visit to Sister Teodora. I suppose I should be jealous."

Ezio offered a roguish grin. "Would you like me to make it up to you?" he asked in a low, suggestive voice.

She made a great show of thinking about it. "I might... except you're so busy I find you _boring_. I'll just have to find someone else to entertain me. I hear Teodora's men are _quite_ imaginative."

"I wouldn't know."

"Too bad... you might learn from them."

And with a quick kiss she leapt up the façade of the inner courtyard, off to do whatever she pleased.

Ezio smiled, shaking his head slightly and wondering who - if anyone - could _ever_ tame that woman.

Ezio made his way east, back to the Ponte Rialto and crossing over into the San Marco district, dominated as it was by the Palazzo Ducale and the Basilica di San Marco. He passed through the massive square, keeping his hood down and changing his gate and posture when he could. It had not even been six months since he allowed _Doge_ Mocenigo to die, and now he'd killed a second _Doge_ less than a week ago. Once he was south of the square he turned his way east, crossing into the narrow streets of L'Arsenale's district. It was undergoing a growth spurt, many sets of scaffolding, fences and platforms, architects hammering at walls or workmen carrying crates of bricks. The streets were narrow, heavily shadowed by the buildings and the construction, and also filled with Venetian guards.

Ezio, confident in his invisibility, still looked to the balconies and beams, weary of bumping into a guard in the packed streets or alerting a sharp eyed archer on the roofs. With the city tense from the death of a second _Doge_, and Silvio threatening the council for the title, he didn't even want to _blink_ wrong at the guards. He decided to reconnoiter the location Antonio had given him before just barging in; he knew nothing of Bartolomeo d'Alviano, and thought to get a measure of the man before introducing himself.

It was because of this, because he was near the roofs and because he was being cautious, that he heard a weak, desperate,

"Please... help..."

He froze for a moment, looking around to see if it was an archer or some kind of trap, but the voice repeated itself, "Please... _help_... someone..." and Ezio scrambled up to the roofline, finding a secluded sky garden and a mercenary sprawled against it. His stomach was covered in blood, as was the wood around him, and his lips were as pale as his face. He had lost a lot of blood, and Ezio was quick to pull out his carefully maintained medical pack that Alfeo had taught him to make.

The mercenary wore a navy blue bandana about his head; something Antonio said was common with d'Alviano's host. His armor was mostly leather, ripped almost to shreds, and when Ezio tore apart the mercenary's shirt to examine the wound, he realized just what he was looking at. Slowly, he repacked his kit. "You must be one of Bartolomeo's men," Ezio said softly, "What's happened here? Where is he?"

"Silvio's thugs... attacked last night," he coughed. "Took him deeper into the district... north of here... Please... help..."

His plea doubled as his last words, as the blood loss at last overtook him, and he died.

Ezio looked down at the body, the senseless death that served _no purpose_, and he sighed, deep in his chest, before bending down and reaching over to close the man's eyes.

"_Requiescat in pace._"

After a moment of silence, Ezio stood and pulled himself up to the top of the sky garden, standing on its admittedly shaky roof; he closed his eyes and thought about the eagles he was named after, asking for their help and opening up his mind. He needed his intuition for this, his special sight to help him find Bartolomeo d'Alviano, and tell him about the courage of one of his men.

Heading north, Ezio kept to the roofs for faster travel, ducking under archers' gazes or working his way around them - tedious, but faster than planning around along balconies and plant posts. He worried that d'Alviano had been taken into L'Arsenale proper, if that was the case the fight was over before it even started, and the further north he went without any speck of gold to fill his vision, the more nervous he became.

At full dark he passed a checkpoint, he could tell from the ground, as a collection of four Venetian guards stood at the entrance of an alleyway and, circling around, he found more guards at similar posts. The Florentine took that as a good sign and worked his way past the checkpoint, into what was obviously a restricted zone. His boots were feather light over the roof tiles, and he slowly became aware of someone cursing as he made his way towards the water.

"_Luridi cordardi_! I'll take you all on! At the same time! With one arm - no - _both_ arms tied behind my back! You must be wondering how this is even _possible_! Only release me and I'll _gladly_ demonstrate, _miserabili pezzi di merda_! You have no honor! No valor! No virtue! And people wonder why it is Venezia's star has begun to fade! I'll show mercy to whoever here has the _courage_ to release me! All the rest of you are going to die! By _my hand_! I swear it! What sort of man sells his honor and dignity for a bit of coin? You realize you are in service to a _traitor_ and a _coward_! Oh ho! Do you think I don't know why you've chained me up?! Do you think I don't know who pulls Silvio's puppet strings?! I've been fighting his weasel of a master since before most of you were even glimmers in your fathers' eyes! Let me out! Let me out! I swear, once I'm free of this cage I'm going to make it my mission to sever each and every one of your fucking heads and shove them up your fucking asses! And I've no intention of matching ass to head either. Oh, and what a grand display it will be! The likes of which will be sung for _years_ to come!"

... Ezio couldn't see the gold flicker of intuition, but his ears were burning so hard he knew he had the right man. The man in the gondola storage cage - as Ezio saw when he crept over a platform reaching out over the roof he was hiding on - was _certainly_ spirited, and given his extended opinion of Silvio Barbarigo, Ezio knew he had found Bartolomeo d'Alviano.

Crawling forward onto his stomach, Ezio's eagle helped him ascertain the situation. No less than four guards stood at the door to the cage - a testament to the strength of the man inside - and there was an archer above them; only Ezio's low profile and the shadows of the brick wall next to him kept him invisible. There were no other guards that he could see, but he knew this was a restricted area; even one shout would bring all the armored guards from the checkpoints barreling in.

... He should have brought Ugo, or Rosa.

Leaning back and away from the sight of the archer, he looked at what he'd brought with him. The firearm was too noisy, and the recoil was terrible. Poison would only work if he could get close to the guards, and while he could do that with the archer, he couldn't with the four guarding the cursing d'Alviano. He did have one smoke bomb...

A plan slowly formulated in his mind, and he nodded, doubling back and circling around to the blind side of the archer, creeping up on near-silent boots and stabbing him in the back, controlling the fall. Picking up the body, he edged his way towards the canal, bracing himself, and threw the body out over the water.

The splash was loud after falling over two stories, and two guards left their post to investigate. Ezio waited, anticipation filling his body but not his mind as he watched carefully, waiting for both backs to be turned, and then he leapt down, both hidden blades extended, and plunged them into the necks of the two guards left at d'Alviano's cage. There was a gurgled cry and a startled gasp from the man in the gondola storage cage, but Ezio was already reaching into his pouch and throwing the smoke bomb onto the ground. The crack of the explosion was loud, but nothing like his firearm, and the two guards ran back to the new noise, the distraction at the river forgotten. They could only see an indistinct silhouette - assuming it was one of them, and began firing questions, but Ezio instead stood between them and grabbed their faces, extending his blades again for another double strike.

When the smoke cleared, four were dead at his feet, one in the water, and he was already working on the lock to free d'Alviano.

The man's hair was closely cropped, his head rectangular and neck thick, he was a big, bulky man with small eyes and a big mouth - literally and figuratively. "About goddamn time!" he cursed, stepping out of his prison. "I don't know if I should kiss you or slap you. Maybe both, just to be safe."

Ezio held his hands up in a placating gesture. "That's quite alright," he said, unwilling to be slapped by a man, and _certainly_ not _kissed_.

"Who are you?" d'Alviano asked, studying him in the moonlight.

"I am Ezio Auditore da Firenze. I'm here to rescue you."

"Ha!" the mercenary laughed. "Let's see who winds up rescuing who."

"... What do you mean?"

"Down there! Stop them!"

Damn. The noise had still managed to carry, meaning the entire area was about to be filled with all the guards from the checkpoint. Ezio stole a glance at d'Alviano.

"We should go."

"Agreed! There are still more heads to be smashed!"

... _What?_

"Perhaps we should try and avoid conflict?" Ezio asked, already darting down a shadowed alley for cover.

"Why? Are you afraid?"

"No," Ezio said, hooking a left and then a sharp right, "just practical, given that they outnumber us."

The mercenary scoffed. "As you wish, my lady."

... Was _everything_ a competition of masculinity with this man? Ezio shook his head, smirking at the thought. Instead, he began explaining himself. "Silvio's set his men to ransacking your place. One of your men managed to stay alive long enough to tell me where to find you. Antonio de Magianis suggested I look you up if I want to raise an army."

"Ha! Now you're talking my language!" d'Alviano said brightly as they darted down a main street, going first south and then west and then south again. "I've been fighting that _cazzo_ and his ilk for years now; it's good to see Antonio finally admits that fighting is better than thieving. He's more of a weeping vagina that even _you_."

Ezio tried not to be insulted, and before he could open his mouth to retort the mercenary was talking once again.

"Watch for the large one. Dante, he's called. Most of Silvio's men are useless, but that one is trouble. His mind is dimmer than even mine, but to fight him... He'll be the only challenge. All the other _pezzo di merdi_ that Silvio's hired are little girls, they have no honor and sell themselves for the highest coin, thinking nothing of switching sides so long as they're paid more. My host and I will make their lives _miserable_."

They crossed a bridge and entered the enormous square of the Palazzo Ducale. Hooking south, Ezio paused at the Campanile di San Marco, hiding in its shadow while d'Alviano stayed out in the moonlight, seemingly oblivious at how visible he was. The large man took in a deep, happy breath. "Ah, sweet freedom, how I have missed you."

"You are a man of simple pleasure, I see," Ezio said, his eyes darting about.

"As any man should be," d'Alviano replied. "All any man needs to be happy is a sword and a woman. Anything after that is an unnecessary complication. So long as I am fighting, I am free, and so long as I am free, I am happy."

In that moment, Ezio decided he liked this man.

"Let's get going," he said, dipping out of the shadows and continuing south down the massive square. The streets were nearly empty this late at night, and Ezio was acutely aware of how obvious both he and d'Alviano were, especially as they neared the big man's general quarters. "Prepare yourself for a fight," he said cautiously.

There was another scoff. "No need! Bartolomeo is always prepared for a fight!"

That announced their presence, it seemed, for a Venetian guard in light armor exited the courtyard of Bartolomeo's tiny barracks, and saw them.

"If you value your life, you'll stand down," he said menacingly, drawing a dagger.

"Never!" Bartolomeo growled. "What good is a man's life if it's not lived free, eh? I'll not go back into a cage!"

"Then you'll go into the ground! Kill them!" And four more guards appeared from the courtyard, and Ezio and d'Alviano were suddenly pressed into a fight. Or, it _might_ have been a fight, if anyone other than Bartolomeo was there. The big man took a chunky fist and rammed it into the face of the lightly armored guard, hitting with such force that the metal of his helmet dented into his nose, sending teeth flying everywhere and the man spinning down to the ground. The falling body gave the mercenary room to step into another guard's circle and shove a thick elbow into the man's neck, his other massive arm having grabbed the man's wrists to prevent a swing. The blow to the neck chocked the guard, and d'Alviano spun him around to wrap his impressive arms around the man's head, twisting and breaking the neck. He kicked up the sword in one fluid motion and blocked a third man's strike - no deflection, no circling, just holding up the parry and taking the blow, and then impressively shoving it away and landing another meaty punch, this time into the guard's gut, under the armor. This was followed up with the pommel of the stolen sword crashing into the back of the guards head, and in less than a minute three guards were down, Bartolomeo was armed, and he was grinning happily.

The fourth man was heavily armored, but that meant nothing to Bartolomeo, and he swatted the lance away like it was a toothpick before splitting the shaft in two with his sword - he struck with such force that the blade itself, a simply captain's sword, was shattered. The armored brute laughed, but that was all he had time to do as Bartolomeo boxed his ears, kicked his kneecap, and was shoved him into the brick wall of the courtyard.

The last guard took one look at the one-man army known as Bartolomeo d'Alviano, and turned and ran out of the courtyard, but not before Ezio took out a throwing knife and downed him.

"Ah! That was a good warm up!" d'Alviano said, a bright smile on his face that echoed Leonardo's at the sight of a puzzle. Ah, _that_ was why Ezio liked him; he reminded him of his painter friend in such a whimsical enjoyment of life.

Inside the courtyard of Bartolomeo's general quarters was an unmitigated _mess_. Weapons and armor were strung about the ground, carts and dummies were overturned, a few telling splatters of blood were splashed on the walls. The door inside was hanging open, off its hinges, and only shadows were beyond.

"What a mess they've made..." Bartolomeo said, eying the destruction. Then a shiver passed over him, and his head snapped to the building proper. "Bianca! I hope she's unharmed!"

He ran inside.

Ezio followed quickly, wondering if Bianca was the same Bianca Antonio used when his thieves were injured, or if it was a different woman all together. He _had_ said that a man only needed a sword and a woman; perhaps d'Alviano was married...?

Inside Bartolomeo could be heard crashing about, and Ezio quickly busied himself lighting candles, shedding light to better see. The damage was as extensive in here as it was outside, and Bartolomeo was frantic - meaning he was making even _more_ of a mess.

"Bianca! Bianca! Look at this place! And poor Bianca... if something's happened to her..."

Touched by the concern, Ezio suggested that they search the rest of the stables-cum-barracks.

"And why should we do that?" d'Alviano demanded. "She would _only_ ever be here and... Aha!" he cried out, shoving a desk aside and reaching down. "Oh, my darling. Thank God you're alright!"

And from behind the desk, Bartolomeo pulled out a sword.

... A sword.

Grinning like a child, Bartolomeo swung it around briefly, extolling its beauty, before casting his gaze to the Florentine. "Ezio," he said brightly, "meet Bianca. Bianca, Ezio."

And he held the sword to Ezio's throat, again seemingly oblivious to how threatening the move was.

The best Ezio could offer was a tight, "Charmed..." before batting the (admittedly impressive) broadsword away.

"So," Bartolomeo said, sheathing his beloved sword. "I know your name, but not why you are here. What do you want with Silvio Barbarigo and my men?"

Ezio quickly explained the meeting with Agostino Barbarigo, Silvio's threats to the council of forty-one, and Ezio's desire to have an... audience... with the man.

"Ah!" Bartolomeo said when he finally understood. "It would be my honor!"

"But it's going to require more than just the two... er... three," he added quickly, glancing at the broadsword Bianca as d'Alviano stroked it, "of us to weaken his forces. How do you suggest we proceed?"

"I'll go and ready my men for battle. Most of them were able to retreat when we realized we were outnumbered. While I do this, I'd like you to rescue those who were captured during Silvio's assault. I cannot, in good conscience, leave them behind, and I need to see if you actually have a pair of anything between those legs of yours."

... Right.

"Understood," Ezio said slowly, nodding his head. "I will attend to it at once."

The mercenary smiled. "Good luck out there, Ezio."

* * *

Ezio's first stop was back to the Palazzo della Seta and Antonio. It was dawn by the time he returned, and the aristocratic thief could only laugh at Ezio's impressions of the mercenary.

"He's a _condottieri_," the thief said, as if it explained everything.

Explaining what had happened to Bartolomeo's host, Antonio as more than happy to lend his thieves, assigning Ugo to the Florentine to help ascertain where the captured mercenaries were. With his gondola, Ugo and his men made quick work of the district, and reported by the end of the day where the major cages and cells were. With his reconnaissance done, Rosa and her men joined Ezio, and over the next three days they broke the mercenaries out of prison: Rosa distracting the guards and leading them on merry chases as Ezio broke the locks. The mercenaries were happy to be free and proud to flank Ezio as he led them back to Bartolomeo's general quarters.

At the end of the week, the converted stables were full, and many cheered to see Ezio enter it as he made his way inside, meeting with Bartolomeo.

The _condottieri_ was oiling Bianca to prevent rust that would weaken the blade. The mercenary looked up as Ezio walked in and smiled, putting down his work.

"_Salute_, Ezio. Welcome back. And well done," Bartolomeo grasped Ezio's arms with the grip of steel. "My host is restored to its former glory. Now Silvio will see just how grave a mistake he's made," Bartolomeo said with a cruel and amused smile.

Ezio nodded. "How should we proceed? A direct assault against the Arsenale?"

The _condottieri_ shook his head. "No. We'd be massacred at the gates," he sad. "Haven't you learned anything about warfare?"

Ezio only shrugged. He'd worked with mercenaries before, certainly, the attack on Salviati's villa coming to mind, but he had always used them based on his own skills and what he would need.

Bartolomeo scoffed. "We'll need to change that. I have something else in mind for that _pezzo di merda_. We'll plant my men throughout the district. The trouble they cause will force Silvio to dispatch most of his guards."

Ezio saw where this plan was going in an instant. "And with the Arsenale drained of mercenaries, I can move in for the kill."

"Exactly! You'll be virtually unopposed."

"Let's hope he takes the bait," Ezio nodded.

"Oh, don't worry. He will."

From there, the two of them started to pour over the maps, discussing where would be better places for havoc. It was an interesting learning experience. Ezio, who had used thieves and courtesans by the score over the years, knew how to distract in open squares and crowded streets. Bartolomeo who had practically lived in the saddle and battlefields, knew how to distract with flanking and feinting. Ezio knew how to distract in small areas where Bartolomeo worked over large fields.

They spent most of the day planning where to best place men, discussing the pros and cons and, above all, how to keep the citizens safe.

"Those dickless men of Silvio's are the ones who give mercenaries a bad name," Bartolomeo commented. "They're the ones that, after a battle, will go in and rape and rob a village. Those men need to have their _cazzo_ removed and stuffed down their throats."

By mid afternoon, Bartolomeo had instructed his men of what their job was and both he and Ezio started to head out into the city in small groups, placing the mercenaries at the ideal spots they'd spent all day figuring out. Those with Ezio tended to marvel as he scaled a wall or building to check positioning and if there were any pitfalls ahead like a patrolling squad.

Slipping through the Castello district and placing the mercenaries took more time than Ezio anticipated, but none of the men accompanying him were lost. They all would wait for the signal, Ezio only needed to return to Bartolomeo and find it.

He headed south, down to San Pietro di Castello. Church of the Bishop of the city, it was noticeably far away from the Palazzo Ducale, a symbolic separation of church and state; it was also the first building to be faced with Venice's famous Istrian white stone that now covered many buildings, including the Palazzo Ducale.

"Ah, there you are!" Bartolomeo greeted. "Is it done?"

"Yes," Ezio smiled. "All your men are in place."

"_Bene_, _bene_." Bartolomeo reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a canister Ezio was familiar with closer to Carnevale. "Take this. I assume you know how it works?"

Ezio nodded, thinking of his time separated from Antonio as the thief sniffed out a traitor; he had spent Carnevale with several beautiful women and setting off fireworks - to ignite their own physical fireworks.

Bartolomeo looked at Ezio's smile and grinned as well. "Find the highest point you can and fire it from there."

"It will signal all our men in the district," Ezio nodded. "I will see you on the battlefield."

"That you will."

Two mercenaries, Beppe and Vanni, went with Ezio as his back up. They slipped through the streets, the late evening sun casting long shadows to hide in and the late spring dropping temperatures to almost chilly. Walking through the crowds heading home, Ezio kept light conversation with his two comrades, appearing to be a bunch of friends heading out for a late drink. But Ezio's sharp eyes were to the rooflines; looking for a tall church tower he'd remembered from when he first explored Venice when he'd arrived, all those years ago.

"Ah, there it is," he whispered. Beppe nodded and Vanni simply took position at an alley entrance, looking casual, but still blocking the way. Ezio scrambled up the wall, reaching the roof and then used what little light was left from the disappearing sun to plot his route up the tower. It was difficult, climbing at night. The candles and lanterns from the streets below didn't provide adequate light and the moon was just a tiny sliver in the sky, not enough to go by. So Ezio made his climb by feel, squinting when he needed to leap as Rosa had taught him and carefully making sure he was timing it will in the dim light.

When he finally reached the top, Ezio took a moment, his legs wrapped around the cross to simply catch his breath and shake out his arms.

Once his body wasn't quite so angry with him, he pulled out his flint and lit first a candle, so that he could see, protected from the wind this high up by his limbs. Finally able to see, Ezio set up the canister and lit the fuse, aiming it up to the sky. It flew into the sky leaving a trail and Ezio looked down to avoid being blinded, as there was a loud explosion above his head.

Ezio stayed still, seeking to get his hearing back and also to ensure he could still see what he was doing. Putting out his candle, he put it away and started the long climb down.

It wasn't until he was almost at the roofline when Ezio's sharp eyes spotted something he didn't wish to see. Bartolomeo only had three men with him and were facing a full squad along with Dante.

Whether Bartolomeo would ever admit it or not, he needed help.

Glancing down, Ezio spotted a haystack and did some quick calculations. It would likely hurt, but he needed to get down faster than he was currently going. Ezio let out a whistle, calling Beppe and Vanni's attention as he leapt away from the tower to a haystack located in a yard across the street.

"What the hell!" Beppe shouted.

The landing did hurt. Ezio's sword dug sharply into his hip and his shoulder felt bruised, but Ezio paid it no mind as he got out of the haystack and leapt the wall back to the alley and startling the two mercenaries.

"Bartolomeo is in trouble," Ezio said firmly before they could start asking questions, "We need to hurry."

That was all either of them needed to hear. They followed him down the alley and over a canal, immediately engaging Bartolomeo's overwhelmed squad. Beppe and Vanni dove right in, swinging axe and broadsword in wide arcs, cutting down unsuspecting enemies while Ezio slipped to Bartolomeo's side and used his own sword to cut down an agile mercenary that was heading for the _condotierri_'s blind spot.

"L'Arsenale," Dante muttered between locking broadswords, "must get back..."

Ezio ducked under a slashing sword, swinging behind the assailant and slicing the tendons behind the knees, knocking the man down before Ezio flipped his sword and plunged it into the man's chest.

Bartolomeo laughed. "_Salute_, Ezio!"

"Care for some company?" Ezio offered.

"By all means!"

Back to back, they squared off. Bartolomeo focused on Dante and keeping him occupied. Ezio, in turn, kept anyone from attacking Bartolomeo. It was a good combination until a pair of hulking brutes in full plated armor came dashing forth. One engaged Bartolomeo right away while the other swing at Ezio who, in lighter armor, had to jump back.

Dante, no longer fighting Bartolomeo - who was fending off heavy axe, blinked and turned, no doubt heading to the L'Arsenale as he'd been muttering to himself.

Bartolomeo didn't care for this. Not one bit. "You have no honor!" he shouted at Dante's retreating back. "You've nothing but a gaping whole between your thighs, wide open and inviting for anyone with a real _cazzo_ to pierce it! _Porca puttana_!"

But the brute swung his axe at the _condotierro_, that Bartolomeo held his Bianca perpendicular, blocking it.

Ezio, meanwhile, kept dancing around the brute that was attacking him.

"_Bastardo_!" the brute growled, "Stay still, damn it! Before I find your mother and show her what a proper man is like!"

Ezio ignored him, dodging back again, studying the brute and his armor. As the brute kept swinging and Ezio kept prancing around and deflecting, he noticed that some of the armor was starting to bunch, unable to keep up with the constant swinging, meaning Ezio had a chance. With another swing, Ezio ducked in close and aimed five precise stabs of his hidden blades into each weakness he saw. The brute gurgled something before falling back, dead.

Turning Ezio saw that Bartolomeo was still laughing at the brute that he was facing, blocking and kicking the brute in delicate areas. Ezio knew Bartolomeo was enjoying the fight, but there was little enough time for this. So Ezio leapt forward, hidden blade extended behind him and then thrust the blade between the helmet and pauldrons and into the neck, his weight and momentum knocking the man down even as Ezio landed precisely and stood quickly.

Bartolomeo wasn't paying any attention, however. He was already heading in the direction they'd last seen Dante flee. "After him!"

The two chased through the streets, knocking the occasional guard into one of Bartolomeo's men for further distraction as they ducked through every dark alley and shortcut Bartolomeo knew as they approached the Arsenale.

Silvio Barbarigo, it seemed, had spotted them when the reached the only gate that lead into the shipyard. The square was filled with mercenaries, both Bartolomeo's and Silvio's, and Dante was wading through them.

"A fine specimen, isn't he?" the last Barbarigo shouted from atop L'Arsenale's walls. "You should be honored to die by his hand!"

Bartolomeo offered his own opinion. "Suck my balls, _muso da mona_! _Porca puttana_!" He turned to Ezio as they also slipped through the warring mercenaries. "Come on, Ezio! We need to stop that _grassone bastardo_!"

Dante seemed to hear the underlying order Silvio had given, though how was anyone's guess given his low intelligence, and turned to fight once more. Bartolomeo took him on while Ezio was once more at the _condotierro_'s back defending it. When he thought he could, Ezio slipped to the fighting mercenaries as well, helping Bartolomeo's men thin the ranks of Silvio's private army. Ezio made his kills quick and quiet, stabbing men from the back rather than engaging directly, so that he could slip back to Bartolomeo's back and defend it once more.

Silvio above them, however, seemed quite chatty.

"You think I don't know why you're here, Ezio?! But you're too late!"

Too late for what? Did Silvio have a ship to escape on?

"There's nothing you can do to prevent us from obtaining it."

"It?" Ezio called up. "What are you hiding?"

"Ah! That's right! You still don't know, do you?" Silvio laughed from on high. "Though once Dante's done with you it won't matter anymore."

Ezio growled a curse under his breath as he blocked the lance of a guard, letting it slide harmlessly to the side and then stepping forward and kicking him in between the legs. With the guard screaming and clutching his delicate bits, Ezio slashed his sword through the man's screaming mouth and out the back of his head before yanking it out and kicking the body away.

"Do you miss him, Ezio? Your fool of a father?" Silvio laughed again. "My greatest regret is that I could not have been the one to pull the lever. To watch him kick and gasp and _hang_!"

Ezio saw, yet again, his family swinging from the gallows and something inside him snapped. _Nobody_ mocked the death of his family. _No one_. Ezio surged forward, a whirlwind of death and destruction as he danced through the mercenaries, taking down those wearing the red of Silvio's crest and aiding the blue of Bartolomeo's men. The red mercenaries all fell to his blades, be it his dagger, sword, throwing knife, it didn't matter. On one he was able to knock a mercenary to his knees, then he put the gun of his hidden blade to the man's head and fired, using the recoil to turn and swung his sword through the clavicle of another of Silvio's men. The sword stuck in the bones, but Ezio kicked him off and kept on slicing.

"You'll follow him into the ground!" Silvio shouted, starting to sound desperate. "You and that mercenary captain both! And after we'll come for the others! Your uncle. Your mother. Your sweet, sweet sister."

But Silvio's men were all falling under Ezio's blade and Bartolomeo was beating back the bulky Dante.

"Enough of this! We're out of time!" Silvio shouted to his mulish servant. "Return to me. We must depart."

Bartolomeo dashed after Dante, but was blocked by another of Silvio's mercenaries.

"Ezio! Go now! That brute will no doubt lead you straight to his master! My men and I will remain here and keep the guards from giving chase."

Ezio nodded, feeling a little more clear-headed now that Silvio wasn't making the murder of his family dance behind his eyes. "Be careful! I wish to fight by your side again!"

"Ha! No doubt we will! Now go!"

Ezio dashed through the warring mercenaries and entered the gate just as Silvio was collecting Dante.

"Hurry!" Silvio shouted. "They're going to leave without us!" Together they ran off, Ezio quickly pursuing and taking to the roofs when he thought he saw the shadow of guards in the flickering light of the torches and slow dawn.

Ezio was moving slower than he liked, as the sun was just cresting over the horizon, but he was able to keep pace with them as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop in the fortified Arsenale. Silvio and Dante reached the dock just as a ship was leaving through the Porta Magna.

"God damn them all!" Silvio cursed. "I've been nothing but loyal! And this - _this_ - is how they repay me?"

Dante looked stupidly to the Barbarigo. "What trouble, master?"

"Don't you see what's happened?!"

"No."

Ezio was getting closer. He could see them at the dock.

"Of course not, slow as you are," Silvio spat. "We've been betrayed! The ship has sailed - without us! And now the Assassin approaches. Perhaps there's still time for us to escape. If not to the island, at least away from here..."

Ezio didn't let them get any farther away. He leapt, both blades extended, and drove a blade into each man's neck, making them pitch forward to the ground.

Now, for some answers.

"What happened here?" Ezio demanded. "Why the boats? I thought you sought the _Doge's_ seat?"

Silvio gasped as blood filled his lungs. "Just a distraction. We were meant to sail..." But Silvio seemed to catch himself.

"Sail where?" Ezio demanded.

"I'll... never... tell..." Silvio breathed his last breath.

"Cyprus is their destination," Dante muttered. "They want... they want..." but he, too, was gone.

Ezio let out a long and heavy sigh. "Fear not the darkness, but welcome its embrace. _Requiescat in Pace_."

Standing, he slipped back to the shadows of dawn and once more ascended to the roofs of the shipyard, and backtracked, his mind heavy.

If Silvio didn't want the _Doge's_ seat, what did he want? What was on Cyprus that they desired so badly? All this distraction and death, and for what? Ezio was no closer to an answer and it left him wondering what the Templars really sought. For years now, Ezio thought his father and brothers had been killed because they had discovered a Templar conspiracy to conquer the cities of Italy. Now he wasn't so sure.

What was it all for?

Ezio exited l'Arsenale as the sun finally crested the horizon. The square was littered with bodies, almost all wearing the red of Silvio's men. Venice's guards and police were there, cleaning up and dragging off bodies at Agostino's orders from the sound of it, and doctors were out in force, talking to Bartolomeo's men.

As for the _condotierro_ himself, he was dirty and rumpled and smiling brightly with a hearty laugh. "Well done, Ezio! Silvio is defeated and the Castello district returned to us! Perhaps now Venezia might finally enjoy a bit of peace and quiet!" With a meaty hand, he slapped Ezio's shoulder. "We should celebrate this victory!"

Ezio gave a wistful smile. "I am glad for you and your men, Bartolomeo, but I cannot join." He looked east to the rising sun, and the ship sailing away for Cyprus. "I fear my work has just taken a rather strange turn..."

Bartolomeo's great big smile disappeared to complete seriousness. "What do you mean?"

"Silvio wasn't looking to replace Marco as _Doge_," Ezio explained. "He was about to leave Venezia, in fact. This whole thing was just a distraction."

"Why?"

"... That is what I need to find out."

* * *

With Venice at last settled into Agostino's hands as _Doge_, things started to return to normal in the Castello district. Bartolomeo was granted all Silvio's old barracks, though the Arsenale remained stubborn on many things. It appeared that the Arsenale had been in Templar hands for too long and Templar aligned people still ran it. It made seizing documents to find out what Silvio had been after on Cyprus difficult and bogged down in official proceedings.

Ezio could only shake his head at the delays, and settled in for a wait. Antonio offered to just sneak in and steal it, but after all the turmoil in the city, Agostino wished to avoid anything that might antagonize the tension still left over in the city. Ezio was inclined to agree. Walking the streets the citizens were worried that another war within the city would break out, as it had between Bartolomeo's men and the Barbarigo's.

It was, in a way, frustrating with how long it took Agostino to settle into _Doge_ and start streamlining things. Though the man was a good politician, he was no Lorenzo de' Medici. He couldn't sway the people as Florence's patron did, and as such it took him longer to get anything done.

While Venice was working to get back on her feet, Teodora very firmly stated that Ezio would be staying with her at her brothel, instead of anywhere else. She wished to teach him invisibility in the crowds. Ezio protested, having already learned these lessons from Paola years ago. Teodora merely gave a delicate smile in response. It seemed that while Ezio was a good hand at invisibility and had been for years, his body had been changing. After all, he'd been in constant combat and battle, training in all methods of fighting, for years now as well. His body now possessed a natural grace that came when one was in complete control of one's body. He still moved for invisibility but never seemed to take that grace into account. The average person wouldn't notice, but a trained soldier or mercenary _would_.

This was harder to master than his initial lessons with Paola on how to position his hips or shoulders, as his body was used to doing things one way and he had to unlearn it to do things a different way.

Word came from Santino that he'd recently come into possession of an interesting sword from the East, one he was certain that Ezio would be interested in. Ezio sent a letter back saying that he'd like to see it once he returned to Monteriggioni, but that it would still be a while before he could return.

Spring quickly turned to summer and Agostino continued to legally fight for the documents of l'Arsenale, making slow headway, if any at all. Some good things came Ezio's way, however.

Antonio, whose thieves still kept an eye out for Codex pages, had miraculously come across a few in one of their jobs. Ezio took a trip to Milan to visit Leonardo for a month or so to escape the hottest, or rather, the muggiest, weather in Venice, and ruminated on some of the passages.

_"Attis. Dionysus. Horus. Krishna. Mithra. Jesus. Similar stories color their lives. Too similar, I think. Divine birthright. Persecution. Disciples. Miraculous acts. Resurrection... _

_"How is it possible? _

_ "Perhaps it isn't... Merely a single story told over the ages? Borrowed then changed to fit the times? Evolving as our tools and language do? Is this tale born of fact or fiction? A bit of both? Could these figures be the same person – their life extended and transformed by a Piece of Eden? _

_ "Al Mualim spoke of Jesus as a real person – a mortal who had mastered the arts of manipulation. But what if he was wrong? If these men are real – and if they have walked amongst us many times before – does it mean they'll come again? Perhaps they are here now? So many questions, and every day, even more..."_

Ezio kept returning to this passage in particular, unable to make sense of it. While hardly a devout Catholic, his family did attend mass regularly, as was expected. He listened to the sermons and speeches of the clergy, on Jesus and his miracles. This idea that Jesus was either a fraud or someone else was difficult to wrap his mind around. There was also this strange mention of a "Piece of Eden." Mario had mentioned it years ago, and occasionally it would slip into conversation, but Ezio didn't understand it. Didn't comprehend it. It sounded more fantasy than reality. One person living the lives of Horus, Jesus, Krisna, others? No being had ever lived that long. Centuries separated the stories. The theory of Altair of a story borrowed and altered for each new culture was far more plausible. Indeed, whenever Ezio read Altair's works, he found the ancient Assassin to be knowledgeable and grounded firmly in reality. But the occasional excerpts from the Codex like this. Ezio couldn't help but wonder...

Maybe Altair, as he grew older, started to separate from reality, as some men occasionally did with age. But the questions Altair posed showed he was still thinking clearly.

Ezio left such thoughts and returned to Venice with the cooler weather of autumn and returned to relearning invisibility with Teodora, waiting for Agostino to finally get the documents of the Arsenale.

While walking around Venice, Ezio occasionally found a young thief, sent from Antonio, who was a new recruit and couldn't believe the legends that the older thieves had of Ezio's speed, even when in armor. Ezio had no problem teaching them a lesson in humility and leaving them in his dust.

Ezio took pleasure in joining the painters at various areas in Venice, learning more and honing his own skills in the field. Ezio knew he'd never be a master like Leonardo or even some of the apprentices he spoke with, but he liked to think he was improving. He did a fair job of the targets he'd killed thus far, having studied each of them while hunting for them. He also found more feathers of lovely colors and size, as he wandered the city, and collected them for his mother. Claudia's letters had reported that Maria seemed to be getting better. She was doing things on her own instead of just going through the motions, but it was stiffly and lacking any feeling.

Winter was rainy, as expected, and Bartolomeo started to visit Teodora's to grab Ezio and teach him a thing or two about soldiering, particularly in such unpleasant weather.

So Ezio kept learning, briefly wondering, from time to time, when he'd ever stop learning, before he remembered both his parents saying that an education never truly stops until one was dead.

December came and Ezio kept painting and finding a bed to warm himself in. It didn't seem to have the same meaning, not after his meeting of Christina at Carnevale. But Ezio couldn't forget, not unless he was with someone for a few hours, and the cold of December always needed him to find some way to forget, especially between Christmas and New Years.

The following year followed much the same pattern. Ezio kept helping around Venice where he could, if Agostino asked it, raced the young braggarts of Antonio, and kept learning under Bartolomeo and Teodora. Antonio, who now seemed to have a nose for Codex pages, would send them his way, and Ezio spent the summer in Milan again to relax away from the muggy Venice weather and study Altair's words again.

Indeed, Ezio was finding he had a fair bit that he traveled with now. The Codex pages, the feathers, the seals he'd found, he wouldn't dare trust any of them with a courier heading to Tuscany. And the few times he'd seen Mario, his uncle was always off somewhere, never heading to home, so Ezio kept holding onto these important and precious things. He was certain he was going to need a wagon to bring everything back to Monteriggioni at his rate.

The year quietly passed by again, and Ezio was settled in his routine.

It was early spring when Teodora finally pronounced that he was once again a master of hiding in the crowds and promptly asked him to leave the brothel. He just smiled, intending to stay with Antonio (and Rosa) again, but Bartolomeo dragged him to his new barracks in the Castello district and had Ezio start teaching some of the mercenaries a thing or two about facing a swift opponent. (Like the new thieves who challenged him, the mercenaries couldn't quite believe how fast Ezio was, especially without armor.) In fact, Bartolomeo had no problems starting a betting pool in the sparring, and Ezio always left the ring with more coins in his purse.

One early summer morning, however, Ugo arrived and told Ezio that the odd skull symbol had been found.

Ugo took Ezio in his gondola down to the Dorsoduro district where Ezio had spent so much time under Teodora's tutelage. They arrived at the Santa Maria della Visitazione. A church originally dedicated to librarians and encyclopedia writers, a church dedicated to knowledge, something Ezio could appreciate, it had been rechristened for the Virgin Mother's visit with Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist. A church overlooking the waters of Venice, it was small compared to the Frari, but being at the edge of the Dorsoduro, it received far more sunlight with dawn shining brightly on it's white façade.

Under long shadows on the west side of the church, Ugo swiftly climbed up, Ezio following and once on the roof, the approached the back of the church near the bell tower. In the deep shadows of the rising sun, Ezio spotted the small skull in the assassin symbol.

"I'll take care of this from here," he told Ugo as he hopped down to the lower roofline.

"I should come with you," the thief replied. "You never know what you're going to find."

Ezio looked up to him and smiled. "I do know what I'm going to find. Send my thanks to Antonio."

"Fine, fine," Ugo grumbled, but he left as Ezio wished. Alone in the shadows, Ezio pulled at the eyes of the skull and stepped into the bell tower.

It was a long climb down, and once at the base of the bell tower, Ezio's sharp eyes spotted another Assassin symbol, pointing down through the floor. Switching to his eagle's sight, he spotted a stone and pushed it, revealing a tiny crawlspace that he squeezed into, the darkness complete as the opening closed behind him. Ezio crawled along in the dark, eventually coming across a ladder that went down even further.

One of the great myths of Venice was that it was a city built on water. This wasn't true. Venice was a series of islands on a lagoon that were close enough together to build bridges, rather than swimming across. This wasn't to say that some buildings weren't on any actual islands. There were many areas where the city had, over the centuries, filled in the land to build structures, and the brightest engineers were designing better posts for support that one could only hope didn't rot in the wet environment of Venice.

By this point, Ezio knew he was likely under the lagoon itself, water leaked in, dripping from above and puddles were common along with mud on the stone floors. Like at the Santa Maria Novella, Ezio found himself in catacombs. From his belt he pulled out a candle he had grabbed before joining Ugo (one of several) and lit it with his flint to get a better look at his surroundings. His eyes spotted another Assassin symbol pointing the way and started to make his way through the catacombs.

It was easily two hours and three candles later that Ezio dropped down a narrow hole in a wall to find a cavernous room partially submerged in water. In the center of the room was a small Roman-styled building, like a room in a room, with a clearly carved Assassin symbol on the door. Looking around, Ezio saw that the waters had done much damage over the centuries. Once elegant stone pillars were crumbling away, wooden beams were almost black with rot, and there didn't appear to be any stairs that lead to the tomb. With water everywhere, Ezio couldn't see any handholds that wouldn't be slippery and swimming wasn't the best of options if he wanted to light his candles as he went so that he could see better.

So Ezio closed his eyes, focused on the bird he was named after, and opened that corner of his mind often kept closed. He needed a way in to the tomb, and all he needed was a flicker of gold to see where to go. He scanned the room slowly, looking from side to side, trying to see what he needed, wondering where he was supposed to go.

It wasn't until, on a whim, he looked up that he spied some sort of lever apparatus on a ledge above him.

Right. Now how to get there...?

Ezio put his candle down and started to study the decaying pillars again. If he was to climb up to that lever, there would likely be a path on the pillars than the slippery walls.

Lighting another candle, Ezio slowly started to follow a path, checking and double checking all his placements and seeing if the next stone he was leaping for was stable enough to not crumble under his weight.

Partway around he set his candle down and started to study again, now that he could see more than he had before, and lit another candle to use on his path.

Progress was slow, using up many of his candles so that he could still see where he was going and where he had been. At one point, Ezio reached the back of the tomb and found a wooden door that likely lead inside, but while it was partially rotted, there must have been a collapse of some kind behind it, since the door refused to budge.

Back to circling around on broken down pillars and arches and walls.

Finally, Ezio reached an upper ledge that was still solid, overlooking the tomb below and he walked along to find the lever he had seen before.

It was surprisingly dry, given the leaking lagoon, and solid as Ezio heaved the heavy lever up, spinning a wooden gear of some kind and hearing chains in the walls start to move.

Looking down to the tomb, stairs started to rise up from the waters and the Assassin symbol and its wall, sank into the ground.

"Perfect."

Ezio leapt down easily to where he had first arrived and carefully ascended the slippery stairs to the tomb. Inside was dry and Ezio put his candle to one of the torches and used that to light his way instead as he entered the tomb of Leonis, an ancient Assassin who favored a dagger.

Shoving aside the lid of the sarcophagus, Ezio pulled out the seal and then took a moment to bow to the old Assassin. Here, like with other tombs, was filled with antiquities and treasures, but Ezio had no need of them. So he took a moment to feel the wisdom and history before finding a wooden hatch and using it to leave.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Another memory in one go. AND a tomb, w00t! I don't think it's even possible to cram more content in a chapter. And dear Barto; he's certainly _interesting_. The language he uses (and subsequently we had to force ourselves to use). It was fun and horrifying at the same time. We're going to go to hell... The memories are coming a little fast now, a short timeskip and then the next memory; there isn't much wiggle room to branch out, and we think this section suffers for it. This is also when we were most exhausted with the writing. Both of us were wondering if the fic would EVER finish. Venice is our least favorite part of the game, it always drags for us when we play it, and it drags in the actual timeline - four years just to break out thieves and then, what, three memories inside a year? There's also a lack of personal connection; Ezio has allies in Venice, to be sure, but he doesn't really have family like he does with Lorenzo in Florence, and the diconnect hits us hard in the game,and made writing Venice even harder. We tried. We hope you like.

Anyway, not much to say about this chapter. It's pretty self-explanatory.

And oh yeah, WE FINISHED AC3! It... we... Connor! _Desmond_...! There's... just... SO MUCH to say but we know some of our reviewers haven't gotten the game yet. Just... Just... gyaaah!

Next chapter: Borgia. Mario. Apple. It's going to be great. See you in a week!


	20. Birth of an Assassin

**Part Twenty: Birth of an Assassin**

Now that Ezio had all the seals, he wished to return to Monteriggioni. That armor Altair had left behind was interesting, Mario had said that it was strong as it was light, and Ezio knew that his speed was his greatest advantage.

But Leonardo had said he'd be visiting Venice for June, so that he could join Ezio in celebrating his birthday, so Ezio decided his trip home would be delayed.

The painter arrived on the first of June and Ezio couldn't quite stop smiling now that his oldest and best friend was in the city. Ezio showed Leonardo the sites, the ones he doubted his painter friend had seen given how short his stay had been in Venice, and taking him to where all the painters gathered.

Leonardo also brought with him more translations for the Codex pages Ezio had gathered over the winter from Antonio.

_ "The Apple is more than a catalog of that which precedes us. Within its twisting, sparking innards I've caught glimpses of what will be. Such a thing should not be possible. Perhaps it isn't. Maybe it is simply a suggestion. How to know? How to be sure? _

_ "I contemplate the consequences of these visions: are they images of things to come – or simply the potential for what might be? Can we influence the outcome? Dare we try? And in so doing, do we merely ensure that which we've seen? _

_ "I am torn – as always – between action and inaction – unclear as to which – if either – will make a difference. Am I even meant to make a difference? Still, I keep this journal. Is that not an attempt to change – or perhaps guarantee – what I have seen?"_

It was another odd rambling. Ezio had seen enough pages of the Codex to know the Apple was the same as the Piece of Eden, though why it was referred to with different names, he wasn't sure. Altair was speaking of visions of the future, which was impossible. Yet the great Assassin was looking at these visions with a calm and practical view, debating benefits and deficits of each action he took.

Strange.

Still Ezio's birthday dawned, June twenty-fourth, and he took a moment to sit by the canal by the Palazzo Ducale. It was a day for celebration, or at least spending time with his friends, but he couldn't seem to produce the joy necessary. Instead, he had woken up to another nightmare of his father and brothers swinging on the gallows.

He stayed there, the morning sun rising high into the sky, content to hide from his associates for a time and just dwell on how revenge seemed so far out of his grasp still.

Rosa, unsurprisingly, was the first to find him.

"There you are, Ezio. Why so serious?"

Ezio gave an ironic grin. "It's my birthday."

"Really?" Rosa replied, surprised. "Happy birthday. That's wonderful?"

And this was why Ezio wished to be left alone. He didn't want well wishes when he was thinking of his losses.

"Is it?" he replied quietly. "It's been over ten years since I watched my father and brothers die. Ten years of hunting the men responsible. I'm so close to the end now, but..." he sighed. "No closer to understanding what any of it was for."

Why? Why did his family have to die? Because they were Assassins? What was the grand conspiracy Giovanni had discovered and couldn't even put to words for Lorenzo? Why were the Templars so determined to take over the cities, Florence, Venice, who knew what others? What did they gain from it, and how did his father fit into the puzzle? Was he even making a difference? His hands steeped in blood, death following in his wake, was his family any safer for it? Was anyone?

Rosa sat patting his shoulder with great sympathy. "You may not see it, Ezio, but it's better here now because of the things you've done," she said softly. "Venice has turned a corner. There's no more fear in the streets. People are daring to be happy. You can too."

Ezio didn't say anything, just looking away.

Rosa sighed. "Enough. Look here," she pulled out a bound book. "I have a 'birthday' present for you. It's L'Arsenale's shipping manifest from the day the boat left."

Ezio turned quickly, wiping his eyes. "The boat to Cyprus? You're serious? I thought Agostino was still battling the shipyard in procedures and protocols!"

"He still is," Rosa smiled. "But he was getting tired of waiting for this particular document. You're not the only one who's been busy, you know."

Ezio reached for it and Rosa held it further away. Giving her most beautiful smile, she said, "And guess when it's scheduled to return? Tomorrow."

Ezio smiled his first honest smile in a week.

"Ezio!"

Ezio turned, still leaning in close to Rosa, and saw Leonardo approaching, rubbing the back of his head and glancing away.

"Leonardo?" Ezio smiled again. "When did you get back from Teodora's?"

The painter gave an embarrassed laugh. "Just now. I need to talk to you. Right away."

Rosa gave a throaty chuckle. "Go on," she said, handing the book to Ezio. "Have fun boys."

Ezio blinked, uncertain what her smile was fo_r, my God even _Rosa_ knows Leonardo's gay and Ezio still doesn't see it! b_ut he turned to his friend and pointed a finger. "This better be good." He turned back to Rosa, but she was already walking away.

"Oh, it is! It is!" Leonardo assured him. "Walk with me. Stay close."

Standing, Ezio playfully shoved his friend in annoyance. "Close indeed. Come on then."

Leonardo chuckled, his face still colored. He gave a dry chuckle, but then sobered into seriousness. "These last two Codex pages... I was studying the copies. I don't know why I never saw it before," Leonardo said, serious yet his eyes alight with wonder. "But when put together I realized the markings on the back clarify into words. Here," he said, pulling out the pages and spreading them out on the stone wall over the water. "The Prophet... will appear... when the second piece is brought to the floating city."

Ezio traced Leonardo's finger's path, piecing the words together and seeing what his friend meant. Mario had talked of words spilling from one page to another, but seeing it now seemed to call up the memory.

"Prophet?" Ezio murmured, thinking of what his uncle had said and bits of what he'd seen in Altair's Codex. " 'Only the prophet may open it'... 'Two Pieces of Eden'..."

"What are you saying?" Leonardo asked, rolling up the pages. "Ezio, what is this?"

Ezio smiled warmly at Leonardo. "We've known each other a long time, Leonardo. If I can't trust you, there is nobody," he said, putting a hand on the painter's shoulder. "My uncle Mario spoke of it long ago," he said softly. "A prophecy hidden in the Codex... leading to an ancient vault that holds something... very powerful."

Leonardo only blinked at the news. "How grand. But if you took these pages from the Barbarigo, then maybe they know about this vault too. That's not good."

All at once, things connected in Ezio's mind.

"Wait... what if that's why they sent the ship to Cyprus?" he said quietly, as everything connected. "To find this... Piece of Eden and bring it back to Venezia."

Leonardo looked at Ezio solemnly. " 'When the second piece is brought to the floating city'..."

" 'The Prophet will appear'..." Ezio continued. " 'only the Prophet can open the vault'... My God!" Ezio started to curse himself. "When my uncle told me about the Codex I was too young, too brash to imagine it was anything but an old man's fantasy!" Ezio growled, completely angry at himself for being so damnably blind. "But now I see... The killing of Mocenigo... even the Medici... my father and brothers... it was all part of his plan!" It wasn't just about conquering all of Italy, like Ezio had suspected. It wasn't about replacing the Medici in Florence or controlling Venice with the Barbarigo or even Forli with Girolamo. It was all preparation, assurances, to get to something that only the Assassin Altair knew of and wrote about. "To find the vault... the _Spaniard_!" Ezio cursed again.

Leonardo nodded. "Rodrigo Borgia."

Ezio took a deep breath, calming himself and focusing. He had much work to do.

"The boat from Cyprus arrives tomorrow," he told Leonardo. "I plan to be there to meet it."

The painter nodded, putting a hand to Ezio's shoulder. "Good luck, my friend."

The rest of the day wasn't one for celebration as Ezio went back to his room at Bartolomeo's barracks and started going through all of his equipment. If the Spaniard wanted that Piece of Eden so desperately, he'd be there to collect it, waiting for some supposed Prophet who could open the Vault. Whether Ezio believed the story or not, the Spaniard certainly did and that was enough for Ezio to seek to stop him.

After checking his supplies, Ezio went out to shop, seeking to restock what he was low on and spent the rest of the afternoon polishing his weapons and sharpening the edges.

This, hopefully, would be his chance. Prophet or no prophet, the Spaniard would be there. And Ezio would meet him. Then kill him. The Templars, without their head and without the major families supporting them, would fall apart. And a tragedy like Ezio's family would never be repeated.

Leonardo did show up again to drag Ezio to dinner, and the Assassin was able to get a few hours of relaxation before bidding his friend farewell. Once more in his rooms, Ezio started to arm himself. The dagger in his boot, the knives on his belt, sword by his side, pouches filled with supplies, and hidden blades on both wrists, gun loaded, poison loaded, Ezio bore all the weapons of his own arsenal, and slipped out in the evening sun to infiltrate a different Arsenale.

In the dark of the shipyard, Ezio found a nook in the roofs and huddled there through the night, not daring to take the chance that the ship would come in early and he would miss it. He slept lightly, aware that the city guard was still patrolling the area and while Agostino would never press charges against him, it was best to stay out of deliberate trouble.

He awoke when the first rays of light started to lighten the sky and ate a light breakfast from the travel mix he brought with him. After all, who really knew what this day would bring? Ezio was prepared for just about anything. He ascended to the west wall of the shipyard, the extra height allowing him to see that much more.

The ship arrived shortly after, just as the sun was cresting the eastern wall of l'Arsenale. Ezio watched as a guard nimbly stepped off the planks with a strange, egg shaped item that bore wings at its base. It was given to an agile guard, who bore an armband with a bull on it, the crest of the Borgia family. Ezio growled.

As the handoff occurred, however, Ezio's eyes spied something else down below. In the shadows of early morning was the Auditore crest on the back of a cape. Glancing around, the figure watched the handoff as well.

Uncle Mario...? What was he doing there?

But Ezio had no time to ponder what his uncle was doing here. Likely chasing down a lead on the Spaniard as well, but Ezio knew following that agile guard would be the more expedient path to take. There was no time to climb down and inform his uncle, so he instead trailed after the agile guard from the roofline, following him out of the Arsenale.

Where were they taking it, this supposed Piece of Eden? What was this Piece supposed to even be? It was small, given the size he'd seen, but how could that truly be so dangerous?

Ezio shook such thoughts aside. Prophecies were pointless. It was merely a path for him to get to the Spaniard.

The rising sun brought workers to the shipyard, still bleary-eyed with sleep and Ezio easily descended to the ground and mingled with them, keeping as close as he dared to the Borgia courier.

The difficulty was that the courier liked to take deserted dark alleys where he would pause and turn around, trying to spy if someone was following him.

So Ezio took to the roofs. Any archers patrolling the skyline would be exhausted and the shift would not change for another hour, making it easy for Ezio to stick to the shadows and follow the Borgia courier as he slowly headed northeast to the Cannaregio district.

Eventually, as the morning progressed and the guards finally switched shifts, Ezio had to descend to the streets again, particularly since the canal separating San Marco and Cannaregio didn't have any immediate place to cross above.

The agile courier started to take dark narrow alleys again, and Ezio had to carefully follow between buildings via beams and balconies. The Cannaregio district was one of the oldest in Venice, and one of the poorest; the brickwork was crumbling and clearly hadn't been repainted in some time. The alleys were the narrowest Ezio had ever seen, and he had to watch his footing lest some loose brick or mortar crumble down and alert the Borgia to his presence. And if there was one thing Ezio was certain of, it was that he would not ruin this chance.

At one point the courier hopped to a pole sticking out of the canal and across to another alley where a guard was standing by. Ezio gauged the distance and time, and quickly ascended to the roofs from the balcony he was observing from for a safer route, before ducking down again when an archer shouted, "You are not allowed up here!"

The guard below didn't look up, clearly not hearing the above archer over the natural ebb and flow of the water of the canal.

Ezio continued to follow the courier, careful of his footing and position and keeping the Borgia in his sight. Eventually he had to get back down to the streets again as the courier entered a wide boulevard.

It had been several hours since he first started trailing the courier and the afternoon was starting to get truly hot. The waters of the canals were really starting to stink and Ezio was sweating as he made each leap. The paths were getting more and more circuitous, rounding around itself before going off in a set direction for a bit, before circling back again. It made a difficult job keeping himself oriented.

Ezio was down to the streets again, circling around a church, and then, to Ezio's surprise, the Borgia courier took to the same type of path that Ezio had been traveling to follow him. The beams and arches between buildings. Ezio stayed to the street level, keeping an eye on the agile courier from under his hood, but the Borgia didn't deviate from the street, eventually hopping down to street level again to cross another canal. Ezio seamlessly merged with the crowds and watched the courier enter an abandoned home guarded by four soldiers also bearing the Borgia crest.

Ezio easily ducked into an alley and silently pulled off the boards of one of the windows and snuck into the house.

The guard from outside stepped in, glaring at the courier.

"The _Maestro_ awaits. He will not suffer mistakes. Package it correctly. Do it now."

Ezio smiled. The Spaniard was there? This changed things. He could infiltrate this group and take the place of the courier and the guards would lead him right to the _figlio di puttana_.

The guard went to check his men and left the Borgia courier to finally have a meal. The courier removed his helmet with a sigh of relief given the heat of the day, and started breaking the bread to eat.

Ezio slipped up and silently put his hidden blade into the courier's neck, leaving the clothes and armor clean and dragged him to a different room to change clothes.

The outfit was a little tight, especially in the shoulders, and whoever had decided that _wool_ in the summer time was a good idea needed to be spoken to. Still, Ezio kept all of his weapons, though more discreetly hidden, and looked to the treasure. He opened the box, wishing a closer look at what this conspiracy was all about, but could do no more.

The guard from before came in and Ezio closed the box, looking up.

"Yes, sir?"

The guard smiled broadly. "This is a moment of great importance. Stay in formation. Make this right."

Ezio nodded, picking up the box. He didn't have time to hide the treasure from the Spaniard, but he would still face his ultimate enemy. And he would finally end this.

Ezio followed the guard out, two others flanking behind him, making a formidable sight to any who wished to find out what sort of box required such heavy guards. Ezio remembered the drills Bartolomeo had taken him through and stayed two steps behind the leader, eyes roaming everywhere as he noted his location, much easier now that he wasn't following an agile courier who liked to walk in circles.

They headed down the street and over the canals, the mid afternoon sun high above them. The leader pushed aside any in their way, giving Ezio a clear path to follow. The guards stayed silent, completely professional, and only nodded to other patrols they passed. Ezio was surprised that they continued to stick to the main streets, instead of ducking through back allies, but said nothing as they continued over another bridge.

They were going parallel to the Grand Canal when Ezio narrowed his eyes and worked to hold back a growl, seeing a man waiting for them in a black hood.

The Spaniard.

_Rodrigo Borgia._

The man who was at Uberto Alberti's house when he'd delivered documents to free his father; the man who'd _pulled the lever_; watched as Giovanni, Federico, even little Petruccio swung and strangled and bled on the gallows. The man who'd arranged a bold assassination attempt on Lorenzo de' Medici _in church_. The man who killed Jacopo de' Pazzi for his failures, who had arranged to place Marco Barbarigo in the _Doge's_ seat in Venice. The man who sought to control cities, gain power through bribery or murder or both - and all for some stupid artifact from Cyprus that Altair had hid there. Some antiquity and blind belief that some kind of "prophet" would arrive and... what? Prophesize his destiny? Lead him to Paradise? Introduce him to Christ?

Ezio looked around.

No one else was there.

No one.

No prophet.

... For a brief moment, he had believed it. Believed Altair's less than sensible rambling about the funny egg in the crate weighing down his arms; but _no one was here_. Just Borgia, the guards, and him.

The prophet was a fake.

No one was here.

Borgia's work was for _nothing_.

... His family died for _nothing._ The conspiracy, the blood, the price, the lives, all of it was utterly _pointless_, because _no one was here_, and to find such an end to Ezio's road to understanding... Something in him was boiling, his ears were pounding with is blood, and his breathing was becoming deeper, quicker. All this death, all over some stupid egg in a crate and a broken promise that something would happen. Blind faith was just so... so...

He shifted the weight of the crate, freeing his left arm and extending his hidden blade. Whatever conversation Borgia was having with the guard was cut off, his blade sinking deep into the soft tissue below the ribs, and he twisted his wrist before retracting the blade. The guard grunted, clutching his back, before pitching to the ground. The two flanking Ezio tried to move in as well, but Ezio put down the crate and he slit their throats.

It was just him and Borgia now. He and the man responsible for _everything_.

The Templar eyed the Assassin; perhaps showing surprise, Ezio did not know the man enough to guess. The Spaniard shrugged if off, however, and relaxed.

"Ezio. It's been some time."

Forward to use his given name like that. Bastard. Ezio returned the favor. "Rodrigo," he greeted, his rich baritone low and hard and dangerous. "So, where is he?"

"Hmmm? Who?"

"Your prophet?" Ezio said, gesturing to the three bodies at his feet, the empty corner by the canal. "Doesn't seem like anybody showed up, Rodrigo," he drove home, pointing to the crate, anger threatening to overtake him. "How many people have died for this? For what's in this box? And look: There's _nobody_ here!" It was a sham, it made everything that happened in the last dozen years _meaningless_, it made his family's death _meaningless_; all this work, over _nothing_.

And Borgia smiled.

A bright, knowing, smug _smirk_ of a smile that showed he knew something Ezio didn't. Ezio _hated_ that look.

"You claim not to be a believer," he said lightly, gesturing. "And yet, here you are..." He spread his hands lightly, an almost welcoming gesture. "Don't you see him? The Prophet is already here..."

He drew his sword. "_I_ am the Prophet," Borgia said, his voice dropping an octave and becoming dangerous. "Now give me the Apple."

Mad.

The Spaniard was _mad_.

Ezio callously stepped over the crate, blocking it from the cardinal-deacon, and drew his own sword. "Come and take it from me."

"_Guards!_"

... Of _course_ the Templar wouldn't play fair. Two dozen Venetian guards flooded into the small square with their armor and swords and knives and maces, surrounding him. One darted forward to try and grab the crate as Ezio watched them move in, and his answer was to kick the guard aside, sheathing his sword and instead pulling out his knife, knowing it would serve better against multiple enemies. He slit the throat of one guard before stabbing his blade into the soft belly of another, yanking it out and spinning under a swing and driving the pommel of his knife into the jaw of a third and kicking a fourth in order to give him some breathing room and keep their hands off the crate.

He was _furious_.

And so he released his anger.

One guard tried to swing at him and Ezio grabbed the offensive wrist, twisting and guiding the blade into the guard's own abdomen, shoving at another guard and then dropping his knife to grab at a lance, fighting for leverage briefly before kicking the guard away and moving into an immediate spin, the blade of the lance cutting and nicking several people but giving him the room to keep the crate at his feet. He would be _damned_ if the Piece of Eden fell into the hands of the Templars. He would be _damned_ if they got their way, _damned_ if his family's deaths weren't avenged. He didn't care if Borgia sent the entire Venetian army after him, he would defend that damn crate and then _he would kill the Spaniard_.

Someone with a broadsword managed to split the lance Ezio was wielding but he had spent years training under Mario and Ulderico and Bartolomeo, he simply used them as two short swords, impaling them in two different guards. He was also trained by Antonio and la Volpe as well, and his speed was utterly unmatched - especially in the lighter Venetian guard armor he wore. He got his hands on the knife he had dropped earlier, ramming it into the foot of a guard and then to the man's throat, spinning around and stabbing another in the shoulder, and then another in the gut, and then grabbing three throwing knives and sending them flying. Two hit their mark, and the third was distracted enough that Ezio was able to duck into the man's circle and run his blade across the man's neck.

A heavily armored brute swung a massive axe at him, and Ezio dropped his knife again, ducking around the blow as a second man rammed into him, wrapping his arms around Ezio's waist and dragging him to the ground while a third moved to the crate.

A long string of curses flew out of Ezio's mouth, and he took a throwing knife and stabbed it into the eye of the man around his waste, blood spurting everywhere, before lifting himself to his feet and grabbing another throwing knife, his fifth so far, and tossing it end over end to the clever third guard. It landed in his arm instead of his neck, but the pain distracted the guard enough that Ezio kicked him off the crate, extending his hidden blade and shoving it into the man's gut, out, and then back in.

The axe man from before managed a glancing blow to Ezio's shoulder, he had ducked aside but not enough apparently, and pain erupted from his shoulder that he then steadfastly ignored as he grabbed at the axe, fought for footing, and then yanked the weapon away, clubbing the brute and then driving the blade into the man's skull.

Ten lay dead at his feet, not including the three guards who had escorted him.

Fourteen other guards were still making their bid for the Piece of Eden, and Borgia watched coldly from a corner, gaze narrow and calculating before offering an evil grin.

"Is this all you have?" the Spaniard asked, voice wry and contemptuous. "Where's the rest of your people?"

Ezio ignored the jibe, his shoulder throbbing as a second brute with a broadsword moved in. The assassin managed to yank the axe out of his most recent kill's head and used it to deflect the broadsword, the heavy swing sending agony up his wounded arm but he once more ignored it, following up with a sideways strike, a little clumsy but effective. He grabbed another throwing knife and sent it flying before extending both of his hidden blades for full combat.

There was a brief lull in the battle, and he took a moment to breath, remembering his uncle's training. Fight to survive means to fight defensively; save energy. He planted his feet around the crate and the treasure inside, and he opened his eyes, his eagle awake, and he waited.

One moved forward, and Ezio used his momentum against him, shoving him into the canal while a second was quickly stabbed in both eye sockets, followed by a double slash to the throat of a third and a critical shoulder stab of the fourth. A brute tried his luck next, another lance, and Ezio slowly backed up from the strikes, lulling the enemy into a false sense of security before leaping up over the lance and sending his blade deep into the brute's neck, the momentum sending the body crashing over the crate, back to start.

After that, two came at once, and the guard with a mace landed a shockingly good hit to Ezio's bad shoulder, and for a moment he was blind with pain but he _refused to fail_, flailing at any perception of motion his eagle granted him, before he could gather his wits again. He was beginning to tire now, and when he risked looking past his immediate circle he saw that more guards were pouring into the square.

... He remembered his thought about the entire Venetian army coming, and he quietly hoped that it didn't _really_ come to that.

A hand touched his shoulder, and only his eagle prevented him from striking it. He turned, startled, and saw a face he had seen at dawn.

"... Uncle?"

"Don't worry, _nipote_," he said calmly. "You are not alone."

The shock of it made Ezio come to a complete stop, watching as Mario dove into the battle, and when a guard shoved Ezio aside he was caught completely unawares. Instead he struggled to get to his feet in time, only to see it was unnecessary when the russet colors of a thief appeared, stabbing the guard in the back. "Volpe...! What are you doing here?"

The thief was already working on another guard. "We could very well ask you the same thing!" He lifted Ezio up to his feet before engaging another guard.

"...'We'?"

The shock was overwhelming, and then there was an arrow in the eye of a guard sneaking up beside him. Antonio came up and shoved the end of his bow into the guard's stomach before drawing a dagger.

"Save your questions, brother. Don't let Borgia leave with that box!"

"Forward!"

And Bartolomeo was there, a wide grin splitting his face as he charged into the fray, bodies lining his path.

What... Where... How...?

But another guard was digging through the bodies to get at the Piece of Eden, and Ezio leapt upon him, hidden blade sinking wearily into the soft tissues of the neck before he twisted it and took up his defense again. Borgia, in his corner, looked utterly furious.

"Take him down, Ezio," Antonio said. "We'll guard the box. Take your revenge, we are right behind you."

"Come at me, _codardi_! All of you! My Bianca hungers for more skulls to crush!"

"Down, boy. You mess with the fox, you get the sword."

"Rosa, Ugo! Where are your diversions?"

"_Nipote_, come, this way!"

They... they were all here...

Ezio felt strength return to him, his heart lifted, and he boldly walked away from the Piece of Eden, secure that it was safe, and marched through the veritable forest of swords, past Bartolomeo smashing heads giddily, past Volpe cutting belts before stabbing backs, past Antonio's shouted directions as he threw knives, glancing up to see a certain brother and sister darting over roofs before fireworks lit up the sky from somewhere, explosions filling the air, and at last joined his Uncle Mario, who was engaged in swordplay with the fifty-seven year old Rodrigo Borgia.

"This is pathetic," the Spaniard was cursing. "You cannot stop what is written. What lies in the Vault shall be mine!"

"Written?" Mario said brightly, blocking a strike and the grandly motioning for Ezio to take over. He offered a bright laugh to Borgia. "What was written was not for your eyes, Templar, and you are delusional if you think you have any part in it."

Shoulder throbbing, renewed but still exhausted, Ezio locked eyes with the Spaniard.

He saw Petruccio's neck snapping. He saw Federico strangling. He heard his father's last words. "_You may take our lives this day, but we _will_ have yours in return! I swear! We will-"_

He swung brutally, the power of the swing breaking the old Spaniard's defense. The follow up strike nicked the sword wholesale from Borgia's hands. The Templar looked surprised, and even a little desperate, pulling out a dagger; but Ezio knocked that away as well. Hot anger filled him, but at the same time it was cold; this was not the blind rage of his youth, or the steely determination of his training. This was cold, calculated, revenge. Revenge for his father, for his brothers, for his family, for the Medici, for Venice, but mostly for his father. Blood-spattered, achy, sweating, panting, he slowly raised his bloody hidden blade, contemplating the moment, thinking of everything that brought him here, anticipating the cold satisfaction that would bring this dozen year journey to a conclusion, that he would at last have the answer to his tragedy, that his _family would at last be safe_.

"This is for my father..." he muttered, his uncle bearing witness.

"This is a losing battle for you, boy," Borgia said, falling to his knees and leaning back, away from the approaching death. "This war has been going on far longer than either of us have played a role, it won't stop with my death."

Ezio raised his blade, deaf to Borgia's words, thinking only of the kill. His shoulder throbbed, making his eye twitch.

It was all Borgia needed.

He threw dirt up into Ezio's face, into his eyes behind the helmet, and Ezio staggered back even as he tried to blindly drive the blade home. Instead something smashed into his shoulder, and all he could _comprehend_ after that was pain. White, staticy, unadulterated _pain_.

"Ezio!"

"After him!"

"No, we have what we need."

"But..."

Cursing, Ezio finally worked his way past the pain, panting, and pulled himself to his feet. Where was the Spaniard? Where was _Borgia_? He spun around, dizzy and confused at what had happened. His body was soaked with sweat, heat seemed to emanate from his entire frame.

Dark eyes and arched eyebrows met his gaze, and seeing a face he had not seen in years only muddled his thinking further.

"Paola..?" No, that wasn't important. _Where was Borgia_? "Where's the Spaniard?" he demanded, unsteady on his feet. That man was about to _die_!

"He's gone," the Florentine courtesan said, "but we have what we came for."

Gone?

... _Gone?_

"No!" Ezio growled, blinking and trying to stay upright. "I need to go after him...!"

"Do you really, now?" asked a new voice, and Ezio spun again, disoriented, to see the habit of another courtesan. "Or are you here for another reason, my son?"

"Teodora...? What...?"

He realized the crowd that had gathered around him amongst the bodies. Mario, Paola, Volpe, Antonio, Teodora, Bartolomeo. Almost every one of his teachers of the last dozen years... How... why... "What are you all doing here?" he asked, stumbling but keeping himself standing.

Another man was there as well, unknown to Ezio; thin-faced with a strong jaw, and he answered the question.

"Perhaps the same thing you are, Ezio. Hoping to see the Prophet appear."

That madness again? Ezio shook his head, a wave of dizziness sweeping over him.

"I came here to kill the Spaniard," he said. "I couldn't care less about your prophet... It's sophistry at any rate... He never showed up. Nobody came."

"No?" the stranger asked. "But, you did."

Ezio blinked.

Then he blinked again.

"... _What_?"

The stranger shrugged his shoulders. "A prophet's arrival was foretold... And, unbeknownst to us - here you are. Perhaps all along, you were the one we sought."

Ezio shook his head, swaying slightly on his feet. Mario put a bracing hand to his good shoulder. How much blood had he lost? The events were threatening to overwhelm him. The prophet... _him?_ He was _certainly_ no _prophet_... the very _suggestion_... and Borgia was _gone_, and everyone was _here_, and... and...

"Who are you?" he asked the thin-faced man.

"Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli," he said, nodding his head. "I am an Assassin - trained in the ancient ways to safeguard mankind's evolution. Just like you, and each one of us here."

Wait... _what_?

"You are all Assassins? Paola...? Volpe...?" Teodora, Antonio, Bartolomeo...? All Assassins? Like Mario? Like his father?

"It's true, _nipote_," Mario said at his shoulder. "But I think first we need to get you to a doctor. The day was eventful to say the least, for you most of all. Let's get you checked out before you pass out completely."

"Agreed," Paola said.

"My girls will help," Teodora said, and before Ezio could really understand what was happening, he and Mario and Machiavelli were surrounded by a gaggle of Teodora's sisters, Antonio and Volpe darting up a three-story building, Rosa and Ugo's shadows seen from above. Fireworks were still lighting up the sky, and Bartolomeo took off down an alley, shouting curses at men who were apparently waiting for him. The Cannaregio was flooded with Venetian guards, but they were all engaged, either with Bartolomeo's men or chasing after some cluster of thieves.

They crossed the Grand Canal and entered the San Polo district, somewhat quieter, and Ezio realized the fireworks were coming from Castello and Dorsoduro, drawing more guards away from Cannaregio and the excitement. Rosa dropped down from somewhere, looking coy and not a little smug, Ugo hot on her heels.

"I see we can't leave you alone for two minutes," she said brightly, working her way through Teodora's sisters and smiling down on the dazed Ezio. "Don't tell me I have _another_ little brother to look after?"

Ezio stared at her, mind utterly blank, before he could only mutely shake his head. "You, too?" he asked.

"Me, what?"

"No," Mario said. "These two still have _quite_ a bit of training to go through. But that's for another time."

Rosa looked to Mario, Ugo already souring, and glared at him. "Who are you to say my brother and I need more training?" she asked, her throaty voice suddenly low.

"Someone who will be talking to Antonio very shortly," Mario replied, "And you can wiggle your answers out of him. In the meantime, I need to see to my nephew."

Both siblings blinked, looking between Mario and Ezio, then looking at each other.

"If you please," Paola said softly, "We should see to Ezio first before we discuss internal matters."

"Yes," Teodora agreed. "Go see to your master, I'm certain the night will leave you much yet to do."

"... Let's go, Ugo."

"What? Now I'm taking orders from-"

"_Now_, Ugo."

The two departed, and shortly thereafter Teodora knocked on a door and the entourage was lead inside by a doctor, adjusting his plague mask. Ezio's weak Venetian armor was stripped away - the axe that had wounded his shoulder had dented it terribly, but the dent had ultimately saved his arm, according to the doctor, as the cut was stitched together and bandaged. The swelling would go down in a few days time, and that the pain would be excruciating in the meantime. Ezio heartily agreed with this as he was given wine to guzzle, and he refused (not for the first time) the use of leeches. He was given a sleeping drought at some point, and he fell asleep to Mario looking down on him with pride, surrounded by his other teachers.

* * *

The next morning brought a litany of questions and explanations. Ezio explained his meeting with Leonardo - who was quickly summoned and dragged into the impromptu meeting to explain his work with the Codex. It was the first time his best friend had met Mario as an Assassin, and the thirty-four year old painter was a little nervous at the intimidating stature compared to the gruff, friendly man he had known previously. Ezio shared the Codex pages he had just gotten, Mario and Volpe reading them adamantly, muttering to themselves briefly while Antonio asked about Ezio's conversation with Rosa. Ezio in turn learned that Antonio had the ship's manifest for several weeks - enough to summon Mario and the others, and that all had been surprised when Ezio was a no-show to their planning session. Teodora had spent much of the day searching for the Florentine, while Antonio and Bartolomeo set up their diversions once they located the Spaniard and Mario took to tailing the courier.

Neither Mario nor Ezio could understand how they had _missed_ each other, but eventually agreed that they were entirely too focused on their objectives to note other shadows.

Then came the explanation of Ezio's training, a struggle on Mario's part because he knew Ezio hadn't initially wanted anything to _do_ with the Assassins, only hide his family, and so it had been decided to train him in secret, and see if he could grow into his role on his own.

To this, everyone agreed, he had exceeded any and all expectations.

"When you first came to me, _nipote_," Mario said, "You couldn't fathom things outside your own pain. Your only focus was running to Spain with Maria and Claudia and hiding. Then, you were only focused on avenging Giovanni and your brothers - a righteous goal, but one very selfish. Now you've saved Firenze, and Venezia, for the sake of their people instead of your own goals. Even your pursuit of the Spaniard, it was to prevent him from getting the Piece of Eden, over your wish for revenge. If it hadn't, those Venetian guards would have gotten the Apple while you were killing Borgia. We couldn't have hoped for a greater change. You've made me, all of us, very proud."

"And we all agree," Paola said with her mysterious eyes trained on him. "You are ready."

"... Ready for what?"

"To join us."

And Ezio was overwhelmed again.

Leonardo was politely dismissed - some ceremonies were private, even for best friends - and Ezio was given another sleeping draught to rest up, and that night he was lead to one of the campanile by the Ponte Rialto. Ezio could see the Frari and the Basilica di San Marco, and L'Arsenale, and the Grand Canal. It was a spectacular view, and Bartolomeo was stoking a fire.

"_Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine_," Mario said, his gruff voice solemn, sober. "These are the words spoken by our ancestors - and lay at the heart of our Creed."

"Where men hold power over others, we remind them that they are merely men," Volpe said.

"Where women are treated as things, we show them we are equals," Paola said.

"Where nobility are bigoted, we teach them the _real_ nobility," Antonio said.

"Where people are owned, we reveal the freedom of choice," Teodora said.

"Where justice is ignored, we fight for what is right," Bartolomeo said.

"Where ignorance is prevalent, we imbue knowledge," Machiavelli said.

"We are Assassins," Mario said, nodding to Ezio.

Machiavelli stepped forward, his face intent. "Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember:"

"...Nothing is true," Ezio replied.

"Where other men are limited, by morality or law, remember:"

"...Everything is permitted."

"We work in the dark to serve the light," Mario said. "We are Assassins."

Bartolomeo pulled a brazier out of the fire, its end red hot, smoking slightly. Mario took Ezio's arm. "It is time Ezio," he said softly. "In this modern age, we may not be as literal as our ancestors. I know Altair spoke of the commitment of removing a finger, but our seal is no less permanent. Are you ready to join us?"

Ezio closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. His father's face filled his mind, clearer than it had been in years, and he was smiling; soft and proud, and his lips were moving. Ezio knew what he was saying, and he knew deep in his bones what his answer was, and he knew - at last - what the end of his journey was. It wasn't about the death of Borgia, it wasn't about avenging his family; it was about becoming a man, and learning from his father's letters, from Altair's Codex, from Mario's training and everyone supporting him over the years, all of it had led him up to _this_ moment. It was about understanding his family, and it was bout finally joining it. It was about finally becoming what he had always admired in his father - even if he didn't recognize it. It was about becoming an Assassin.

Was he ready?

"I am."

He had never been more ready in his life.

"Hold out your left hand," Mario ordered, and Ezio did so without hesitation, watching as Bartolomeo brought the brazier closer.

"This only hurts for a while, brother," Antonio said, reassuring, "Like so many things."

Bartolomeo pressed the brazier on his finger, and the burning sensation was _terrible_, he couldn't stop the wince that creased his face, and like a waft of smoke he wondered if Altair losing his finger had it worse than _this_. The hot iron was quickly removed, and Paola just as quickly dumped Ezio's hand in a basin of water, the cool liquid serving to burn his finger even more. Teodora touched his shoulder in support, and Ezio realized her finger was scarred just as his would be, and a glance showed that Paola had one too, as did Antonio, and undoubtedly the others, though they wore gloves. Why had he never noticed...?

As one, everyone circled around Ezio, and said:

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted."

The moment hung, heavy in the air.

"_Benvenuto_, Ezio," Machiavelli said. "You are one of us now. Come! We have much to do."

And with that, he hopped lightly onto the beam sticking out of the campanile and leapt off of it, plunging down to the ground.

Ezio blinked, Antonio looking out over the edge before nodding, and leaping himself, followed by Bartolomeo and even Paola and Teodora. He looked to his Uncle.

"The Leap of Faith," Mario said, grabbing Ezio's good shoulder. "It is the last ceremony of the Assassin: the ultimate proof of his faith in the Order, his faith in himself, and his faith in his brothers. It does much more than help a running man escape."

And he took the leap himself.

Ezio was alone now, the fire down to embers. He could see nothing below him; he had no idea what awaited him.

And yet... he did.

He stood on that beam, looking down to the darkness, thinking.

And he smiled.

"Father... Thank you."

And he leapt.

The wind rushed through his hood, roaring in his ears; he felt like an eagle in midair, and he knew that he could die in this moment an be utterly content, and that certainty was encased in the sweet scent of fresh hay as he landed into the cart that had been set up below.

He was content, because he was an Assassin.

He had joined the ranks of his teachers, and of his father.

And he had finally learned what came after the deaths of his family.

Resolution.

* * *

"_Tu sei un Auditore. Sei un combattente. Percio combattente!_"

* * *

Desmond startled, his finger was _burning_, and he sucked in a deep breath, suddenly disoriented with the bright lights of the loft compared to the dead of night of the ceremony.

Lucy was at his side in an instant. "Are you okay?" she asked, eyeing him as he worried his finger, spinning his hand around, trying to find the burn scar. "Do you want to stop?"

Stop? Stop that feeling?

"No!" Desmond said quickly, sucking in a deep breath. "I need to go back, right now."

"Look at that," Shaun said from his corner. "Enthusiasm. He might make a professional yet."

But Desmond was already closing his eyes, willing himself back into the Animus, to Venice in 1488, to that night and Ezio, to that feeling, that _feeling_, the one he had wanted _all his life_...

The white load screen appeared, and Desmond walked around a little in his Ezio avatar, energy making him fidgety. "Can we replay memories?" he asked suddenly, the thought occurring to him. "I'd love to relive that over and over."

"_What, Ezio's initiation?_" Rebecca asked.

"Hell yeah."

"_You'll get initiated yourself, though, so why bother?_"

Desmond shook his head, unable to put it into words, not _wanting_ to put it in words. Rebecca didn't understand, she'd been an assassin all her life - or at least it seemed like it. Shaun joined up out of necessity, he wondered if even Lucy could understand why he wanted that again, and he just kept pacing about, pulling out his sword and swinging it experimentally. His form had improved with all of his training in the Animus, but he didn't think he was anything like Ezio yet.

"_O-Oh. Oh, dear._" Shaun's voice was low.

"_Shaun?_" Lucy asked.

"_Of course. How could I have forgotten?_"

"You wanna share with the rest of us?" Desmond asked, still pacing and swinging and practicing in the load screen.

"_Rodrigo Borgia is elected Pope in 1492. Which means Ezio's greatest enemy is now also the most powerful man in Italy._"

God that guy had his share of problems... Desmond shrugged his shoulders, opting for sarcasm. "Always wanted to visit the Vatican..."

There was a very long pause from everyone in the loft, before Shaun quipped right back.

"_Well you're luck's in, Desmond. Happy days. 'Cause that's exactly where you're going._"

"Great. Then what's taking so long?" Desmond asked, pulling his hood down and looking up. "I thought 'baby' was a zillion times better than that crap table at Abstergo?"

"_It should be loading..._" Rebecca's voice answered. "_It _should_ be loading. Hang on, let me open up the debug. Protocols are up to date, synchronization is optimal, no... aw, shiiiiiiiiit._"

"_What?_" Lucy asked. "_What is it?_"

"_It's the files,_" Rebecca explained, and the white room faded away, pulling Desmond back to the loft. "Some of them are corrupted. I'm gonna have to go through them - without Desmond plugged in - and see why they're being flagged. It may be a failsafe of the Abstergo memory core, and I don't want to have some kind of virus or something explode in Baby while people are attached. First I have to back up all the files we've generated, except some of them are corrupted too, and I don't know why, and that's a whole _other_ problem and..." Her technobabble continued as she detached Desmond, already opening up a panel behind the orange cushions he had just been sitting in and examining circuitry, muttering about hardware not being a problem but checking just in case before swinging her computer screen around and opening up a diagnostic window.

Lucy, Shaun, and Desmond all looked at each other, surprised that their day had suddenly shut down like that. Desmond, for his part, felt like cursing, and his toes curled in his sneakers before muttering, "I'm going for a run," and slipping out of the loft and down to the warehouse.

He ran every line, every course, every combination he could think of in the warehouse. He leapt from metal scaffolding to hanging beams, testing his weight on light fixtures and barreling off crates to catwalks. He missed the innate grace his body had acquired, but he did notice the ease of his run, and that made him push himself harder, wanting to burn off the excess frustration. He wanted to go _back_, but even as he realized why, he hated himself for it, and that made him push himself harder.

He was panting by the time he finished, the windows to the outside displaying a dark sky and a lot of light pollution.

"Are you okay?"

He spun around, a little startled, to find Lucy, a brown jacket wrapped around her shoulders.

"... Yeah," he said, sighing. "I guess."

Lucy's gaze narrowed, her focus increasing, before handing over a cup of coffee. "What's wrong?" she asked slowly. "Why did you want to go back so badly?"

Desmond frowned, sitting on a crate and pulling off his sweatshirt. He drew from his mug, ruminating, before he tried to construct an answer.

"... It's the first time I wanted to go back," he said slowly. "Have you been in the Animus?"

"No."

"I don't think the computers record everything," Desmond said. "I mean, they get the visuals, sure, and the dialogue, and all the nitty-gritty little details, but, there are some things in there that you just can't _see_. When I was Altair - God, was that just last week? - I could feel his mourning of Adha, some girl he knew in his apprenticeship that was kidnapped by the Templars and tortured to death. I kinda saw his dreams, and his thoughts of settling down with her. I could see all the love he had for Maria, too..."

"Maria? Who's Maria?"

"... especially that night in Acre when Sef was conceived - and god wasn't _that_ fucked up..."

"Wait," Lucy said, holding up a hand. "Back up. Maria? Sef?"

... Right. That had been a dream. Desmond winced. "... Never mind," he said quickly, hoping to wave it off. "It's just... that kind of stuff is private. And it's the same thing with Ezio. I could feel every bit of pain he felt when he watched his family hang, and I can still feel the weight of the shovel when he and Cristina buried them. It's... it's _private_, and I feel like I'm intruding. It's even worse because it affects _me_, too. _I'm_ feeling it even though it's not me. It's why I freak out whenever Ezio decides to whore himself out. _Ezio's_ getting the erection, but _I'm_ getting it too, whether I think the chick is hot or not, and I _shouldn't_. I'm not a prude, like Shaun thinks, it's just too freakin' _weird_." He sucked in another breath. "The word 'reliving' doesn't even begin to _cover_ it, you know? And it's all so _private_, some of it, stuff you don't talk about, but now I'm sharing in it and I feel like some shit-faced voyeur-stalker or something. But that... _that night_... it was the first time I felt..."

He trailed off, having run out of words.

Lucy looked at him, her face carefully blank; and she reached out and put her hand on his knee. His heart fluttered.

"What did you feel?"

"... It was the first time I felt... I felt like I belonged," Desmond said, helpless to find a better description. "Ezio... he has a new family now, and it doesn't replace his dad or his brothers, but he feels like he _belongs_ now, like he doesn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders, like he isn't alone anymore. And I've wanted that, I've _wanted_ that feeling for _years_. It's why I ran away from the farm. It's why I hated New York so much. I want..." He shrugged. "I want to feel that again. I want to 'relive' it."

"... You want to belong," Lucy said, her voice soft, wistful, almost sad.

"Yeah..."

The two sat together for a long time, both lost in their thoughts, Lucy's hand on Desmond's knee.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Whew, what to say about this chapter...

In a way, this should have been the ending of AC2 rather than the last memory ten years later (we'll whine about THAT particular timeskip later...). This was the ultimate culmination of Ezio's training, and it's when he finally comes into his own. He is, at last, at Altair's level and education, and now we can believe that he will do the things he does in Brotherhood and become the centerpiece of the Golden Age of Assassins. No more whiny little kid mad at the world. Well mostly. It's one of the defining moments of his life.

Which is why it affects Desmond so much.

Having played Revelations and learning about Desmond's backstory, it made sense that _this_ memory would probably make him a believer in the Animus. It's no longer about doing it to get things done, he's more receptive to reliving the memories no matter how much they creep him out and invade his privacy. It also opens him up to the Bleeding Effect more, because now he's not going to break synch so much, and in fact breaking synch will happen when he's _out_ of the Animus. More on that in Brotherhood when we finally get around to writing it. (so many ideas... hard to keep track of them all...)

We also have a bonding moment with Lucy. Win!

We're actually going to take a small break from Ezio for a bit. Rebecca mentioned something about corrupted files, and that problem needs to be solved, first. We can all guess what that means.

Next chapter: Glyphs. Lots and lots of Glyphs. And the Truth.


	21. The Truth

**Part Twenty-One: The Truth**

Eventually, the pair got up for a silent dinner, and both retired, the soft glow of Rebecca's computer screen and her soft curses and mouse clicks keeping Desmond up a long time before exhaustion finally took him.

The next morning Desmond, Lucy, and Shaun all crowded around Rebecca.

The contralto sighed. "Okay," she said, rubbing her forehead. Her eyes looked terrible. "The corruption doesn't have to do with the Animus, or the memory core, or the hardware or the software. Near as I can tell, the corruption is in specific _places_ in the Animus that it's constructed - and if it's in specific places, that means one thing: Glyphs."

The other three took a collected intake of breath.

"Subject Sixteen...?"

"Insofar as I can tell," Rebecca said, tugging off her headphones and rubbing her ears loose, "He wants us to find all of his bits of truth before we hit a particular memory. He hacked the Animus real good, too, I've never seen code like that - and I can't even _see_ all of it, it's as schizo as he was."

Lucy stiffened, and Desmond quickly put a hand on the small of her back, quiet reassurance.

"So, in short," Shaun said, "Sixteen's hijacked our priorities and forcing us to find the other breadcrumbs he's set out and lead us around by the nose." He sighed. "And I thought the London _Olympics_ were diverting. Right, I'll just go dust off my knowledge of current events, then; ta for now, have fun running around looking for glyphs. Do try not to crash your brain in the meantime."

"Looks like we don't have a choice," Lucy said, running a hand through her blond bangs. "I'll send word out."

And soon Desmond was plugged back into the Animus, the white loading screen appearing only briefly before he spawned in Monteriggioni.

"Where to?" he asked up to the sky, looking around and startling to see Monteriggioni looking _freaking gorgeous_.

"_Venice,_" Rebecca said. "_You'd have to travel a lot of country for that, let me see if I can respawn you._"

Desmond didn't have time to really examine Ezio's home, the white loading room had returned, and he suddenly wished he'd spent more time in Monteriggioni. The nostalgia there... could he trigger the memory of Ezio's arrival after so many years in Venice? What would his face look like? Desmond tried to hold the picture of the villa in his mind, but it slipped away as he heard the lapping of water.

He was on the Rialto Bridge, the massive wooden construction with buildings on it, and he knew immediately he was in the construct and not in a memory; the air wasn't thick with humidity, and the rotten smell of the water was greatly reduced, as was the sense of saturation everywhere. Desmond looked up expectantly, waiting for someone to tell him where his first glyph of the day was.

"_Before you even ask, you're standing on it: Rialto Bridge._"

And so Desmond spent the next _two hours_ searching every nook and cranny of the bridge, every building, every stall, every stand, until a weird schmuck in a cape shoved him over the edge and into the water before running away, "Keep away filth! _Assassino_, help!"

"Who that _hell_ was that guy?" Desmond demanded, sputtering as he tried to float his way to the support beams of the bridge.

"_Borgia courier._"

Like _that_ explained anything... Still coughing and cursing, Desmond started to lift himself up (and good God he was finally able to _swim!_ Hallelujah!) before he spied a distinct glow underneath the shade of the bridge. Holding his breath in disgust, he swam through the filthy water and made his way to it, activating his Eagle Vision and finding some kind of spider design. The Animus scanned it quickly, and he saw the title,** "I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds"** flash before displaying a locked file. Photos displayed before him, with another rotary lock. He studied the pictures, a face of a man he didn't know, what looked like an oil tower, some kind of industry, or a factory. Corporate mal-intentions, again? Desmond decided he shouldn't be surprised. It took a minute to figure out the lock and the symbols, but when he did the file opened:

_Abstergo Corporation_

_SUBJECT: Test Authorization_

_ "There comes a time in the life of every experiment when we must test our results outside, in the world. I do not relish a successful outcome, but one is essential if we are to begin the foundations of a new world order._

_ "Global security and prosperity depend on a steady hand guiding the populace, a hand that will not falter under the weight of a conscience. Give O. the authorization._

_ "I believe history will vindicate us, in the end."_

"Still no help, Sixteen," Desmond muttered, finding a button behind the letter and pressing it.

The he watched a video clip of a nuclear mushroom.

"Whoa..."

"_I suppose that should surprise no one,_" Shaun muttered. "_If they engineered World War II like Sixteen suggests, that includes nuclear testing._"

Back in the water, Desmond had to work quickly to keep himself from drowning, and shakily got to his feet.

"N-next?" he asked.

"_San Giacomo di Rialto_," Rebecca answered.

Short walk. Desmond went to the nearby church, climbing its roofs until he found the glyph and scanned it, reading the title of **Apollo** as he heard the distorted voice of Sixteen:

"Something was up there. Something abandoned long ago."

And the latest puzzle opened with a color photo of the earth, the moon in the distance, zooming in slowly before it faded to a closer photo of the curve of the moon. Find the eagle, the caption said, and Desmond slowly made his way through the picture before finding, of course, the "eagle", as in the famous quote, "The Eagle has landed," the Lunar-Lander. The photo zoomed in to the contraption, and a wheel lock of a kind was opened up, with a quote underneath:

"_With these formidable weapons, the adversaries of freedom plan to consolidate their territory, to exploit, to control, and finally to destroy. - JFK_"

"Does that mean anything?" Desmond asked as he fiddled with the wheel lock. "I mean, JFK was killed by the Templars, but what does that, the nukes, and the moon have to do with each other?"

Before anyone could answer, the puzzle unlocked, revealing another photo, this time of an astronaut on the moon, a plain white flag by his side and the Lunar-Lander behind him. The caption read: Apollo 11 photograph released to the public. Frowning, Desmond scanned the picture slowly before he realized the flag had Templar crosses interwoven in the fabric, and in its shadow was...

An Apple.

"With Jack deep under ground," Sixteen said, despondent, "it was easy."

ID: Piece of Eden 5 - Apple.

"God, _another_ one?" Desmond said, Venice spawning around him. "And the Templars just shot up to space to take it, how'd they even know it was _up_ there? Or did they plant it there for safekeeping?"

"_I'm sorry, Desmond. I don't know._"

He sighed. "Where to next?"

"_Thieves Guild,_" Rebecca said. "_Not the palazzo, the one by the docks._"

And Desmond stomped his feet as he made his way west, following a well traveled road that Ezio took many, many times, seeing several afterimages of his ancestor before reaching the secluded docks and the ruined building that used to be the home of Antonio de Magianis. The glyph was on the roofs, three triangles, perhaps pyramids, glowing before Desmond scanned them.

Sixteen seemed talkative for these puzzles, because he once more heard the distorted voice.

"The end," he said. "Almost the end." Desmond could hear soft, slightly labored breathing, and then a confused thought: "It happened before... The Pieces were once part of a whole." **The Fourth Day** title appeared, and a series of pictures were shown to choose from. The clue read: Once worshipped, now ignored, from a distance it watches and waits.

"So. Not. Helpful." Desmond muttered. "Suggestions?"

"_Most of these pictures are references to older, polytheistic religions. I see Roman gods, Buddha, Aztec... rather diverse, actually._"

"But what do they have in _common_?"

"_We were just in space,_" Rebecca said. "_Would that make any difference?_"

That sparked a debate between her and Shaun, but Desmond would take help when he could get it and studied the pictures, picking ones that vaguely looked like they had some connection to the sun. It worked, it seemed, because a circle in a circle appeared, some symbol that meant nothing to Desmond, and the pictures fell away to a picture of the sun, close up, red, and fiery. Desmond scanned it carefully because of its glow, finding bits of sentences and quotes.

_They died in the fire from the heavens._

_ Near the day of our purification, there will be cobwebs spun back and forth in the sky. -Hopi-_

_ Toba 75 ka was not a volcano._

_ A container of ashes might one day be thrown from the sky which could burn the land and boil the oceans. -Hopi-_

"And now we're talking about the Hopi? And what's Toba seventy-five?"

"_... Do you think he means Lake Toba?_" Rebecca asked.

"Lake Toba?"

"_Yeah, in Indonesia. Great mountains there, I wanted to climb some of them. Lake Toba, there was this epic level eight volcanic eruption there, like sixty-five thousand years ago or something._"

"So?"

"_So, I remember when I was in school and looking up mountains to climb and stuff, some scientists said that the super-eruption created atmospheric cooling, and caused one of the last glacial periods of the earth. They also said that the volcanic winter probably caused this enormous population fallout. See, everything in a several thousand mile radius was covered in like fifteen centimeters of ash, lots of food and crop probably died, and the human population, or our very distant relatives, nearly died out with them._"

"_Wait,_" Lucy interrupted. "_You're talking about the genetic bottleneck theory._"

"_The what?_"

"_Genetic bottleneck theory. Abstergo flagged them a few years ago and refuted it. The theory suggested only three thousand people survived the Toba super-eruption. And it _has_ been genetically proven that homo sapiens came from a very small genetic stock. Warren did a lot of research on it when he was creating the Animus._"

"... And Sixteen is saying it _wasn't_ a volcanic eruption?"

"_Then what the bloody hell was it?_" Shaun demanded, impatient.

Desmond stared at the picture of the sun, wondering what this was all leading to.

ID: Earth

He gasped as he respawned on the rooftops of Venice, and rubbed his head. "This is turning into one giant fucking headache," he muttered. He felt much like he had before when he first learned about the Pieces of Eden, when Vidic rambled about Those Who Came Before. There were only so many steps outside of established reality his mind was willing to go beyond, and he mentally shut down. Rebecca told him to go down to San Marco, specifically to the Torre dell'Orologio, and he numbly followed, bumping his way through mindless constructs and climbing the impressive clock tower, admiring the Venetian lion only for a little bit before ascending to the roof and finding an innocuous Venn diagram. He scanned it with his Eagle Vision and hoped Sixteen was done warping his brain.

Alas, Sixteen was still feeling chatty.

"They were mostly heroes," he was saying, disjointed and distorted. Desmond had no idea what he was talking about. "But see, how the lineage was _disrupted_. The web of history traps the good, and the evil take what's not theirs!" **Brothers** appeared as the title of the glyph, and Desmond slowly unlocked a series of paintings. Each painting depicted two men fighting each other, and as Desmond unlocked them, whatever one or both were reaching for revealed itself to be an Apple; and each paired with a quote.

_And Satan said unto Cain, Swear unto me by thy throat, and if thou tell it, thou shalt die._

_ And all these things were done in secret._

_ And Cain said, Truly, I am Mahan, Master of the great secret._

_ Wherefore Cain was called Master Mahan, and he gloried in his wickedness._

"Behold, the mark of Cain!" Sixteen shouted.

"Riiiiiight," Desmond muttered, returning to Venice. "Because playing with human evolution isn't random enough, now we're going back to the Bible. What is he _getting_ at here?" he asked.

"_I'm sure it will make sense when we reach the last glyph,_" Rebecca offered.

"_Because we've seen a lot of evidence of _that_, haven't we?_" Shaun muttered.

"_Regardless, we still have to move forward,_" Lucy said. "_We can't go to the next memory until we've scanned all the glyphs. Next one's in... Campanile di San Marco, near where you are, Desmond._"

And Desmond looked at the tall tower, and hopped over a rail and began making his way there.

The climb wasn't that easy, as the handholds were all broken brick that blended easily in with all the other bricks of the _campanile_ and Desmond took his time climbing to make sure he had his hand holds. This was also a test of seeing how well he'd learned Rosa's leaping technique through Ezio as he hadn't really used it yet. Thankfully he didn't fall all the way down to the _piazza_, and Ezio's muscle memory of the jump and grab were still with Desmond, even if he needed to refine it to his own body.

Once atop, he stared at the pentagram in a circle and scanned it with his Eagle Vision.

**Guardians** appeared in the black screen and a scrambled picture showed up. Desmond spun the rings around until it created the image of a man dead in another's arms with the Assassin symbol next to them.

_The death of all tyrants will set the people free_.

A map of the world came up and with his Assassin cursor; Desmond selected all the spots, reading out the list of names. "Francisco Pizarro; Francois Duvalier; John Wilkes Booth, at least I recognize that name; Tomas de Torquemada; Mary the First of England; Cleopatra, another name I recognize; Joseph Stalin, we went over him with World War II; and Rasputin."

Desmond returned to the _campanile_ and looked out to the sky. "So all of those guys were killed by Assassins?"

"_Rather safe assumption there_," Shaun replied.

"But Booth killed President Lincoln? Assassinated him. Would that..." Desmond trailed off, Ezio's memories of the Spaniard killing his family and killing Jacopo de' Pazzi filtering up. The Templars could assassinate as well. It wasn't just Assassins, though they bore the proper name. "So who are all these people?"

"_Right_," Shaun grumbled. "_A quick rundown for our uneducated Baby Assassin. Marquees Francisco Pizzaro Gonzales was a Spanish conquistador born around the time Ezio started down his journey to become an Assassin, who conquered the Incan empire of South America, though he took three tries to do it. Eventually founding the city of Lima he was a wealthy governor when, on June 26, 1541, armed supporters of the Almagro family stormed in and assassinated him, effectively being responsible for young Almagro becoming the new governor._"

"And of course Western conquerors were always so good to the people," Desmond muttered, his time with the History Channel reminding him that the Incans hadn't gone down without a fight and that this Pizzaro was likely quite the little dictator. Plus, if Assassins really killed him, he was probably a Templar as well.

"_Then we move on to Francois Duvalier_," Shaun continued, "_President of Haiti from 1957 till his death in 1971, it looks like he might have rigged the election in his favor as he was completely trouncing his largest opponent and the only other candidate was conveniently exiled, though I don't have proof of that. Let's see, that's interesting, he was supported initially by the military and then he made them a powerbase, and would you look at that, he liked to repress any who opposed him, what a surprise. Political murder, expulsion, he created such a significant brain drain from his repression and restrictions on the country that theorists don't think Haiti's been able to regroup from it since. He claimed he was the physical representation of the country and had a little cult following. Pleasant guy._"

"_I can see why the Assassin's would want to take him out_," Rebecca said.

"You think?" Desmond muttered.

"_And for our American members of the team, we get to John Wilkes Booth, famous assassin of dear old Abe Lincoln. Of course, history doesn't get into his plot to kidnap Lincoln before the assassination, but I'm just going to assume you Americans know the story. Lincoln went to relax at a theatre with his wife. Lincoln was shot. Booth got away. Booth was hunted down and killed._"

"By Assassins."

"_So it seems,_" Shaun said. "_You know, this would be much easier, if you paid attention in whatever classes you had. You'd know this already._"

"Whatever," Desmond groused. "You think we kept records of anything? Records that could be stolen or found? No, it was all destroyed or if it was kept, it was easily destroyed in case of some random phantom coming in to kill us. There weren't history classes, it was all phys ed, all day, every day."

There was a moment of silence.

"Next guy?" Desmond didn't want to talk about his childhood. The generators, the fields, the training. The only real classes were those of strategy. Learning to play chess or go, learning to think ahead. Classes on hacking computers, how to stay invisible. There was no history for Assassins, because Assassin's didn't exist.

"_Tomas de Torquemada, a Spanish Dominican friar, he was best known for his fanatical following of Rodrigo Borgia and being the first Grand Inquisitor for the Spanish Inquisition that began in 1483. He eventually died in a monastery in September 1498. Interestingly, his tomb was ransacked and bones burned to ashes._"

"Again, seems like a no-brainer for the Assassin's to kill him."

"_And that brings us to dear old Mary I of England, also known as, drum roll please-_" Rebecca provided said drum roll, "_Bloody Mary. Queen of England and Ireland from 1553 till 1558. In her short five-year reign, she had nearly three hundred Protestants put to death so that Catholicism was in place for the country again. She died of influenza and possibly ovarian cancer. Now, do you _really_ want me to get into the Tudors_?"

"_Not unless you're putting on the show from the BBC,_" Rebecca replied lightly.

"_Work? Please?_" Lucy interrupted.

"_Alright, alright!_" Shaun groused. "_Cleopatra, the last effective pharaoh of Egypt, she married her brothers, made a son with Caesar, had twins with Mark Anthony, and presented herself as the Egyptian god Isis, reincarnated. She was a heavy hitter of her time, solidifying power by sleeping with either Caesar to solidify her rule or Mark Anthony after Caesar's assassination. After losing in battle to Caesar's successor, Mark Anthony committed suicide and Cleopatra, as per tradition, did so was well via the poisonous asp._"

"Except," Desmond interjected, "we know from the Sanctuary under Monteriggioni that Amunet assassinated her."

"_Right,_" Shaun continued. "_Next is Stalin, part of that lovely little conspiracy with dear old Churchill, Roosevelt and Hitler, and then went to do Great Purges of his citizenry to ensure a one-party system. We'll ignore Cold War politics, there's a damned good reason I don't study recent history. However, it's interesting to note that Stalin, according to a 2003 joint Russian-American study showed Stalin had ingested warfarin, rat poison, that made him susceptible to the stroke he suffered that paralyzed the right half of his body and lead to his death days later. Who ordered or carried it out are up to debate. And that brings us to Rasputin._"

"_And he's placed over Tunguska, conveniently,_" Rebecca added, addressing the map.

"_Right. Well this guy was a mystic and faith-healer, and was made famous for it by supposedly healing Czar Nikolas II's son, Alexei, gaining him access and trust to the royal family. Known at the time to be controversial, including rumors of him raping a nun and domination of the royal family. Depends on whose memoirs you're reading. The first assassination attempt was in 1914, by a former hooker who split open his guts and watched his intestines fall out. Surprisingly he survived till December of 1916 when he was finally killed via, and get this list: poison, shot four times, badly beaten, and drowned. All sorts of stories about how he died, but his remains were eventually burned to ash in the woods a few months later and even that has legends of Rasputin getting up in the fire._"

Desmond frowned. "And his picture is over Tunguska?"

"_Yeah,_" Rebecca said. "_Kinda makes you wonder, doesn't it?_"

"_Indeed,_" Shaun replied.

"_Wondering won't help now, though,_" Lucy interrupted. "_Our next glyph is at San Pietro di Castello_."

"Gotcha," Desmond said, getting out to climb down the tower. "On my way."

That had been quite the information dump and each piece seemed to be just the tip of the iceberg. Maybe, after they were done, Desmond might start digging through some history sites online. It might help piece together some of what Subject Sixteen was trying to say.

For now, however, he was entering the military district of L'Arsenale, and making his way along the southern edge to reach the church. He switched to Eagle Vision and walked around the church, looking for where the glow of the glyph might be, before he found it along the eastern side and started to climb. It was a Mandelbrot Set and Desmond watched the black miasma engulf him and waited for the title.

But the title didn't come.

Subject Sixteen was talking, his voice off-kilter. Not staticy, but echoing and sounding distinctly unhinged.

"I don't know what's happening to me! I've been in the machine, they _keep putting me back in_," Sixteen sobbed. "And I am _losing_ control. It's all blurring together." Sixteen paused and Desmond just couldn't help but feel pity. And pray he didn't end up like this.

"I'm holding a rifle," Sixteen continued, still sounding like he was trying not to sob. "Gettysburg is in the distance... I just _stabbed_ a man!" Sixteen wailed, "and there's _blood_ on my _waistcoat_!" Sixteen gave a small series of gaspy sobs before saying in a calmer voice, "I'm at the opera, the soprano is so beautiful," he said lovingly through his hitched breath. "I'm in bed with her," his tone went darker, "she cries as I _fuck_ her. I'm speaking at the Forum, _no one listens_!"

Sixteen's voice turned tentative, "I'm in the forest, hunting. The moon..." Sixteen said in awe. "I can see the moon..." he whispered.

Desmond ignored the pity in his chest, waiting for Sixteen to finish what he had to say.

"I'm _here_. I have to stay _here_ until you understand!" There was desperation in Sixteen's voice. "Listen, why do we have these gifts? These abilities? _Because_! It's in our _blood_!"

At last, the title appeared, **Bloodlines**, and Desmond just let out a sorrowful sigh. "You can't help but feel for the guy," he said quietly.

_The seeds were planted as the two worlds became one. Behold, the Assassins, the children of two worlds!_

Desmond looked at the set of pictures before him, wondering what was the common theme he was looking for. Shaun was already spouting off about each picture, but Desmond wasn't thinking of who had painted what and when. The words about becoming one stuck with him, and he noticed that two of them had very, _very_ clear sexual references with otherworldly beings, and one of the titles talked about a rape of some kind. So Desmond selected them and started looking through the titles, seeing if any of the other paintings had to do with a god and some normal person becoming "one". Once the he'd selected his pictures, the pass code was found.

From there he worked his way north, via Rebecca's directions to the Scuola Grande di San Marco, finding Nasca lines of a bird along the roofline. Sixteen remained calm this time, and sullen.

"It's getting harder. All the pain across time... it _hurts_ too much. She sees me raise the knife... Only a little bit longer now."

**Synapses** appeared along with another wheel lock and the pictures needed to find the combination. Sixteen whispered in Desmond's ear, "In the beginning. Genesis... Genesis..."

"And we're back to the Bible," he muttered, lining up the wheel lock.

"_Alright, this is a hard one, this is a hard one..._" Shaun said, "_It's fine. Those numbers on the screen, they got to be there for a reason. I don't know if this helps, but I know the symbols on the wheel, they're Sumerian numerals. Those tree shapes-_"

"You mean the martini glasses?"

"_The _tree_ shapes, represent ones. And the sideways Vs are tens. Maybe the numbers and the Sumerian numerals connect somehow._"

"Yeah, but _how_ is the question."

So looking at the Sumerian numbers, Desmond did some mental math to translate them to the number system he was more familiar with. One, three, nine, eleven, twelve, was there any rhyme or reason to this combo? But Desmond's eyes kept drifting to the set of numbers at the side of the screen, 1 + 2 + 6 + 2 + 1 + 5 + 3 + 5 + 6 + 4. He stared at it, something was there, he just wasn't sure what. Lucy, Rebecca, and Shaun were all debating what the possible code could be, discussing numerical theories Desmond had never heard of, but he doubted it was that complicated.

Hmmmmm, 1 + 2 was 3.

Three and six was nine.

Wait a minute...

Nine plus two was eleven!

"Got it!" The next number was eleven and one, which was twelve, so the blank was twelve and add five which was seventeen, and in Sumerian... Desmond worked his way around the wheel, figuring out what the blanks were and inputting the combination. The file unlocked and Sixteen spoke out, frustrated.

"The Organization wanted the pieces. They'd _tasted_ their power. But what _were_ the pieces? _Why_ did they _work_ so well? It's as if our minds were made for them. Manufactured to obey."

A magazine article came up.

_Biological Frontier_

_ISSUE 1, JANUARY, 2012_

_"The scientific community is abuzz as the results of a new neurological study were made public today. What seemed to be big news in itself - that Dr. Yijie Wu and Dr. P. J. Traunero had discovered a new neurotransmitter - turned out to be just the tip of the iceberg._

_ "To quote Dr. Wu, 'Using a prototype dMRI machine, we've been able to examine the contents of an actual neuron in living tissue. We've found a substance that appears to be an undiscovered neurotransmitter._

_ " '(Here's) where it gets crazy. To test our findings, we subjected the neuron to all kinds of stimuli, but we couldn't get it to release the transmitter. So, we've discovered an entire mechanism: these are vesicles filled with neurotransmitter lying dormant and corresponding on channels, all for no discernable purpose.'_

_"Expressing bafflement that natural selection would create an unnecessary neurotransmitter, Wu and Traunero searched for a predecessor in other species, with no luck._

_ " 'Whatever this bugger is used for, it evolved in humans,' Traunero told the press."_

"Wait a second, is Sixteen saying that there's some sort of neurotransmitter in all of our brains, that... what? Is designed to make us obey the Pieces of Eden?"

"_I remember reading the article,_" Lucy said quietly. "_Vidic saw it and just laughed._"

Desmond frowned, remembering the bastard talking about Those Who Came Before. If the people before man were "gods" and Assassins were descendents of both gods and humans... what? Did that explain the Eagle Vision? And if the various Pieces of Eden were designed to affect that dormant neurotransmitter, then were humans engineered to obey them? But that didn't make sense. None of this made sense, not without more information. Where the hell was Sixteen getting all this information? Sure he made a good case, but this was all circumstantial at best, right?

Still, he headed off to the last glyph. Maybe then he could make sense of what Sixteen was trying to say.

**The Origin of the Species**

Sixteen spoke again, calm and dejected. "A few still know the truth," he said solemnly. "It's around us in signs, and paintings, faces, documents, but... but we don't see it. See, we are... we are blind to our own creation."

Desmond looked at the scrambled picture, turning the pieces back to where they needed to be. _It has been hidden, altered_. The picture expanded to reveal more detail. Desmond scanned it, noting how the Shroud, Sword, and Staff were all highlighted when he moved his cursor over them. But the eye looking down on all, that revealed da Vinci's man in a circle and a square, and when he highlighted it, a new combination lock came up.

"I can't do it!" Sixteen shouted. "Can I do it? Will it set me free from this _endless_ ring of time?" Sixteen grunted. "I feel the guillotine cut my throat, the _bullet_ hit my chest, the water fill my lungs. The blood _spills_ out _thick_ and _red_. It's time to get out."

The screen was filled with numbers all sorts of different set numbers, which was worth shit given that the wheel lock was blanked out completely.

"_What the hell_?" Shaun demanded. "_What are we supposed to do with that!_"

Desmond started fingering through the possible answers, looking at all the symbols he'd had to look at in Eagle Vision to even unlock the puzzle, the butterfly wings, the Nasca lines, etc.

"_We don't even have a reference!_" Rebecca grumbled loudly. "_What are we supposed to look up and compare?_"

"_Maybe it's about the previous glyphs_," Lucy thought out loud. "_Let's take a look at those_."

But Desmond ignored, them, looking down at a small faded line that was so very familiar.

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted."

Desmond looked at the blank wheel and decided, what the hell. He put in random symbols and input it.

The file unlocked.

"_Nicely done, Desmond,_" Lucy complimented him.

The file was another Abstergo file.

_Abstergo Corporation_

_January 3, 1997_

_ "I'm writing in response to your concerns about the rising alarm in the press and the scientific community. The lack of a transitional ancestor from archaic hominids to modern kind (homo sapiens) is no longer safe. As you wrote, we have to act._

_ "We can't let the truth get out, they'll find out about the artifacts. It will cause too much disruption, to much chaos. Bury our constructed skeletons near Tim White's expedition in Ethopia. We'll give them their missing link._

_ "The birth of humanity. The truth makes me sick."_

"_They _faked_ the connection to modern man?_" Rebecca was appalled.

But a non-human skeleton was in front of Desmond, and with a Piece of Eden curser, he selected them, making the human skeleton.

Sixteen whispered, "Ah, the moon. I can see the stars... My mind is gone. Lucy, I can't wait any longer. I'm ready to go." There was a small pause and Desmond heard Lucy sniffle, before Sixteen's last words rambled in another of his hallucinations. "She sees me raise the knife..."

The last video clip unlocked and Desmond opened his eyes to see the ceiling of the loft.

"Rebecca?" he asked, wondering why he'd been pulled out.

"The little video files are starting to stitch together. Who knows how long it'll take," she sighed. "Besides, I'm starving. Lunch sounds good. We won't be able to do anything in my Baby until the file's done restructuring itself. It's really eating up all my processor speed."

Desmond shrugged. "Guess we have the afternoon off then."

"Maybe _you_ do," Shaun grunted across the room, "but the rest of us have duties that don't revolve around you."

Desmond ignored him and headed to their kitchenette. If they were all going to be busy, he could at least cook them a decent lunch.

He dug around the cabinets and pulled out various ingredients and started cooking. Slowly, the others started to filter in from the smells of the food he was making and they all settled down to eat a hearty lunch.

"I don't know how Sixteen did it," Rebecca said, "but watching those fragments join one another is damn beautiful. Wonder where he learned to code like that?"

Lucy shook her head. "I don't know. But I don't know how much is what he knew before and how much had to do with what he was seeing in the Animus. Towards the end, as you heard, he was..."

"Unhinged?" Desmond offered. "He was clearly holding on with everything he could."

"But at what cost to himself," Shaun asked, sipping his tea. "A cycle of pain seemed to be all he was aware of, like all his ancestors suffered, never had a happy moment, and that was all he could live through."

Desmond shook his head. "Clearly part of his ancestry was Ezio, and I'll be the first to say Ezio has a shitty life, but he _does_ have happy moments."

Like joining the Brotherhood in Venice.

"Face it," Shaun grumbled, "life is easier to focus on pain and bad things than happy moments."

"Well aren't you the optimist," Rebecca scoffed with a smile.

After lunch Desmond spent the afternoon running in the warehouse, pushing himself as much as he could. He could feel the agility and the instincts of Ezio as he ran around the beams high above the floor, but he still didn't have the muscle for what he always wanted to do, so he focused on endurance. Pushing himself as much as he could for as long as he could. The information dump of all those glyphs filtered in the back of his mind, but there weren't enough pieces to really know anything for sure.

In a way, he wished Shaun's assumption had been correct, that there _had_ been some sort of history class on how to be an Assassin. A look at how far they'd gotten and what was lost over the years. But since Assassin's weren't supposed to exist, they never kept records. Not in the usual sense. The various compounds were spread out and didn't have the best communication with one another, not when Desmond had been growing up. Things might be different now with the internet, which had been it its infancy (particularly compared to today) when Desmond had last been... home.

Desmond leapt from the catwalk down to the crates and then down to the floor, tucking and rolling, and completely out of breath. Now that his muscles were burning, it was time for a shower. Finally feeling clean and in a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, he returned to the kitchenette to cook dinner.

Dinner seemed more of a work-while-eating, as the others came in, grateful for a meal, but taking their plates and returning to the loft to continue whatever they'd been working on.

Desmond joined them, sitting on the orange recliner of the Animus with his plate balanced on his lap. Rebecca was at a separate computer from her Baby, working by the servers and mumbling to herself about .mpgs versus .mp4 versus .avi or some such computer lingo on videos that Desmond couldn't follow. Shaun was buried in his books, taking copious notes, by hand no less, before turning to his computer for something or other, and Lucy was just at her station, sipping her coffee and reading files.

"Scintillating conversation," Desmond mumbled.

Lucy actually looked up and offered him a smile. "Sorry, Desmond. It's easy to get sucked into work. You must be bored."

Desmond sighed. "Don't worry, I'll find a way to keep myself busy."

Which he did. By starting to read through Shaun's books.

"What the heck?!" Shaun growled. "Get out of my things!"

Desmond could only shrug. "Sixteen left a lot of pieces but no true evidence. I thought I'd look a few things up."

"In _my_ books?"

"It's not like there's a computer for me to look online at. Besides, it keeps me busy and out of everyone's hair."

Shaun scoffed. "No it doesn't, it puts you in _my_ hair! Go back to being the jock downstairs!"

Desmond merely chuckled. "Nope."

"Argh, look, just put them back where you found them, I have an _order_ to my books and by God! Don't just put your dirty hands all over the pages! Do you have any idea how old those books are?"

"Old," was Desmond's reply, flipping through one particular text and reading the ancient Latin and the Italian translations. "And their translations are off."

That caused silence around the room.

Lucy stood up. "How do you know their translations are off?"

Desmond paused, realizing what that meant. Because he didn't _know_ Latin or Italian. Or rather, he wasn't supposed to. He just sat there, reeling at the changes in him that he hadn't even noticed, before frowning.

"... I'm going to bed," he said at last.

Going to sleep wasn't easy as he could still hear everyone in the loft, but they stayed at a whisper level for him. Eventually, he drowned it all out and got some sleep, but it didn't seem to last long before Rebecca was shaking his shoulder, swearing a storm under her breath.

"Come on, Desmond, wake up!'

"What..." he grumbled.

Rebecca actually tugged at his arm. "Up!" she grunted.

"Geez, I'm up, I'm up, what is it?"

"Just get up." Rebecca was almost bouncing in pent up energy. "God, gotta get the others up."

"Rebecca," Desmond grabbed her wrist before she bounded out to wake everyone else, "what is it?"

The technician took a deep breath. "Sixteen's file is complete."

"And?"

Rebecca sighed. "You have to see it."

Desmond nodded. "Should I make coffee?"

To that, Rebecca gave a soft smile. "Nope, the file will wake them up, no doubt about that."

"Okay."

Rebecca disappeared and Desmond took a moment to yawn and stretch. It was still dark out, and he guessed it had to be somewhere around four in the morning.

Lucy came in first, yawning, hair disheveled, in a tank top and pajama pants, and slumped onto the couch and rubbing her eyes.

"Hey," Desmond said quietly, sitting next to her.

"Hey," she said back, "did Rebecca even go to bed yet?"

"Don't know," Desmond replied. "She's still dressed, I don't think so."

"Ergh," Lucy grunted, seeming to come awake quickly. "Wonder what has her so disturbed..."

"That file of Sixteen's."

Lucy stilled. "Oh."

Desmond put his arm around her and gave a small squeeze.

Rebecca came in and was bustling around the Animus, checking wires and getting a flash drive to attach to their huge-screen TV when Shaun came in, hair all over the place and looking very much like an English gentleman in full pajama's and robe. Shaun only grunted as he sat in the overstuffed chair and slouched.

Rebecca finished setting up everything and turned to her sleepy audience.

"Okay, Sixteen's file finished recompiling and... well..." she hesitated. "See for yourself."

_SUBJECT SIXTEEN SESSION 12 DATE [CLASSIFIED] B. C. E._

A man and woman were running. That much would have been dull except for everything about it. They looked naked at first glance, but as lighting changed from shadows to sun dappled to sunny, it was clear they were wearing some sort of... plastic? with faintly glowing lines in a pattern that reminded Desmond of the lines on the Apple. The setting was some sort of futuristic curves of glass stone and trees leading to a skyscraper. They ran in through a circular door glancing back, and Desmond noted that the woman had some sort of red armband. Once inside whatever that building was, they hopped up ledges and catwalks with skill that Ezio would be jealous of before breaking a window and starting their climb outside.

There was a flash into one of the windows they jumped by, showing a Piece of Eden glowing while other men in the same plastic clothes with glowing lines were constructing something before returning to the climbing man and woman, who had ascended to the top of the skyscraper. They were atop some sort of city with a massive mountain in the distance.

The woman turned back, "Adam," she panted, holding up an Apple, "I have it."

But she glanced back, frightened.

"Eve!" He turned back as well.

And the video glitched out.

They all sat there in silence.

"So," Rebecca said, "I'm not crazy? That was-"

"I think it was," Shaun whispered.

"Damn," was all Desmond could offer. Adam and Eve. From the Bible. That was supposed to be _Adam and Eve_ from the _freakin' Bible!_ He brain threatened to shut down again, unable to handle the radical shifting of reality. Again.

Lucy stood, already pulling her hair back, "We need to send the video in for analysis." Her voice had a tinge of something at the end and Desmond stood as well, lightly touching her arm.

"You okay?"

Lucy gave a sad smile. "He'd be able to explain the whole thing to us," she said, gesturing to the TV. "If only we could ask him..."

"Don't dwell on it," Desmond replied. He turned. "Well I don't know about the rest of you, but I think I'm up for the day."

"Really, oh what a _terrible_ surprise that is," Shaun grumbled.

"Right," Lucy said, stalking back across the loft. "We're all awake and not going back to sleep, we might as well get some work done. Rebecca, send the file and then set up the Animus. Shaun, write up a preliminary analysis and send it with Rebecca's file. Let's get to work."

They all nodded and Desmond grabbed some fresh clothes and went to the bathroom to change. He'd spied a black t-shirt with an eagle design he liked, thinking of his ancestors and his unusual sight, and a white hoodie with a red underlining that just seemed to remind him of Ezio.

Lucy made breakfast, and had an extra strong pot of coffee ready for everyone. Rebecca was told she needed to get some sleep once Desmond was set up, disturbed or not, since she hadn't gotten any yet and she heartily agreed. Shaun just sort of growled at anyone and everyone, clearly not enjoying being up so early.

Desmond got into the Animus and offered another supportive smile to Lucy before leaning back and closing his eyes. Ezio had fin_ally escaped Venice..._

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Le Gasp! The Truth!

Er, yeah. This chapter was boring because even with some heavy-handed editing, it's just regurgitating the glyphs and explaining the little historical bits and then finding the truth. We tried. We really did. Some of the tidbits are interesting, to be sure, and Ubisoft certainly did a good job leading the player up to the Truth, but trying to novelize it... Meeeh.

And as if that isn't painful enough. Now we have a Ten year timeskip to wade our way through. More on that later.

Next chapter: Fever dreams. :D

**Extra Note:** Take the time tonight to hug your family extra tight. Especially those of you who are students. Today's events in our home state (which are all over the news, alas) reminds everyone that the holiday season is the time to be close to family and thankful for having them at all.


	22. Battle of Forli

**Part Twenty-Two: Battle of Forli**

Unsurprisingly, despite the Spaniard's sound defeat, Rodrigo Borgia's men hounded Ezio and his fellow Assassins, as they wanted the Apple back. Teodora, Antonio, and Bartolomeo stayed in the city, distracting guards and drawing the eyes away from the strategic withdrawal of Ezio, his uncle, and this new Assassin Ezio hadn't met before, Niccolo Machiavelli. During the course of this withdrawal, Ezio had looked at the artifact in the crate long enough to hear whispers and know that he and the others would not be able to figure it out on their own.

Altair, after all, had been far more learned that Ezio was, and even _he_ could not crack the mysteries of this strange sphere completely. And Ezio could hear the whispers Altair wrote of. A quiet indistinguishable chorus along the back of his mind. It unnerved him, made him think of magic and sleight-of-hand that was all trickery and none of it truly magic. But such sorcery was there, whispering to him. So Ezio kept the Piece of Eden locked in its egg-shaped winged container, and tucked away in a crate or saddlebags that he never let out of his possession.

Ezio doubted he'd ever understand the thing, not the way Altair had, but there was one person he knew who might have the ability to do so.

Thus, on their quiet escape from Venice, Ezio insisted they get his dearest and oldest friend, Leonardo.

It was not the first time Leonardo had met Mario, nor was it the first time that Leonardo had met Mario when the nobleman was acting like an Assassin, but it _was_ the first time Leonardo wasn't pushed out of more private ceremonies of the Assassins. The painter was right along Ezio's side as they slipped quietly onto gondolas and escaped to a ship waiting in the lagoon to set sail and Leonardo stayed by Ezio's side as his injuries were checked and tended to.

While on the ship, Ezio stayed out of armor, considering them safe for the moment and wanting to give his shoulder proper time to heal so that the weight of the Missalgias wouldn't do more harm. He still insisted that the Piece of Eden, the Apple, whatever it was called, stay with him. He couldn't explain why, not really, but even though the ship was safe, there was no one tailing them, and he was amongst friends, Ezio didn't dare let the thing out of his possession. He didn't want the whispering to affect anyone else. Ezio could ignore the whispers, as Altair could, but Altair also wrote that many had fallen under the Apple's grasp and Ezio had no intention of letting his friends and allies falling under whatever its spell was.

They disembarked in Romagna and found a small house that Bartolomeo had acquired for them near the _Avamposto_ meant for family of the Venetian navy. They settled in for a few days, giving Ezio more time to recover, and it was during this time that the Piece of Eden was finally studied to figure out why the _hell_ the Spaniard wanted a sphere with strange simplistic golden engravings.

Of course, Ezio understood. The whispers likely called to the Spaniard as well, though none of his friends seemed to hear it.

Ezio carefully pulled the ball from its treasure case and laid it on a table in the study, all the heavy curtains drawn despite the fact that it was the middle of the night. He made certain not to touch it directly as it rolled onto the table in front of them, bizarrely emitting its own strange, soft glow.

Leonardo, his eyes alight with wonder, crouched forward, seeking to get a better look, and Mario and Machiavelli leaned in as well. Ezio stood tall by Leonardo's side, not trusting the thing.

"Fascinating!" Leonardo said in quiet wonder. "Absolutely fascinating..."

"What is it, Leonardo?" Ezio asked quietly as well. "What does it do?"

The painter shook his head. "I could no more explain this than explain to you why the Earth goes around the Sun."

"You mean the Sun around the Earth," Mario said raising a brow and throwing a questioning look at Ezio, clearly asking if Leonardo was as smart as Ezio claimed.

Leonardo leaned forward, still crouched down and looking at it at table level and reached out with his bare hand, turning the small globe around. "It's fabricated with materials that shouldn't exist and yet this is clearly a very ancient artifact." He let go and the Apple continued is soft, pulsing glow.

The whispers seemed to have gotten louder, but Ezio still couldn't make anything out of what they were saying.

"The Codex refers to it as a Piece of Eden," Mario said.

"The Spaniard..." Ezio added, "He called it the Apple."

Leonardo latched onto the information. "Like Eve's apple of forbidden knowledge?" The painter stood, looking to Ezio with curiosity. "Are you then suggesting that this thing...?"

But Ezio wasn't listening. The whispers were louder than before, calling to him, drawing him. Not realizing what was happening, Ezio reached forward with his bare left hand, the glow intensifying. The whispers were still indistinct, a chorus of unclear voices, but they were no longer whispers, they echoed in Ezio's mind, calling and pulling and drawing and Ezio's had came down on the artifact.

_The Prophet!_

The room was engulfed in light, images, equations, and indecipherable symbols, strange writings flashing about and hanging in the air for a moment to be replaced by something else. Ezio squinted at the light, the whispers singing joyously in the confines of his own mind and soothing him. Leonardo looked around curious and startled and focused at everything before it dispersed to something else. Mario and Machiavelli did not seem to fair so well. Both were grunting, groaning, almost yelling, as they clutched their heads and dropped to the floor.

In Ezio's own mind, the soothing was distracting, the light blinding, and yet calling for him all at once.

But his friends and family were in danger.

That was enough for him to take action.

_The Prophet! Yet the Prophet is not ready..._

The Apple seemed to agree, as Ezio swiftly stepped forward and hit the Piece of Eden with his bare hand again, turning off the lights and ringing Ezio had only just noticed, leaving them all blinking and adjusting once more to the candlelight.

Mario stood, rubbing his eyes and Machiavelli just sat on the floor, collecting himself again.

They stayed for a moment, recovering from what had only been seconds but felt like an eternity.

It was Leonardo who spoke first, curiosity and wonder replaced with solemnity. "This must never fall into the wrong hands. It would drive weaker minds insane."

Machiavelli grunted his agreement from the floor.

"No doubt the Spaniard will be relentless in his desire to gain it back," Ezio observed, the whispers finally gone from his mind.

He hoped.

Machiavelli stood and grabbed some cloth, hastily wrapping it around the Apple and being careful not to touch it as Mario poured wine for all of them. Once the Apple was covered, Machiavelli put it into a small pouch and turned to the young Assassin. He said, respectfully, "Ezio. You must protect this with all the skills we have taught you. Clearly no other can handle its... power."

Mario downed his glass of wine and nodded. "Take it to Forli. The citadel's walls are protected by canons and," he smirked despite the recent ordeal, "our ally controls it."

Ezio raised an eyebrow. "Who is this ally?"

Mario grinned broadly. "Her name is Caterina Sforza."

Ezio's smile was just as broad. "You don't say," he said, thinking of her spirited and colorful language and bold grasp of him when they'd last met. "I think I may enjoy this mission."

Ezio turned to Leonardo, who was also sipping his wine, mind likely occupied with all that information he'd seen. The young Assassin hugged the painter. "Thank you for everything, my oldest friend," he said softly.

Leonardo smiled, about to say something, but Mario interrupted.

"Leonardo!" the gruff nobleman said, "Ezio tells me that you live in Milano. I have a grand villa in Tuscana. You must come visit me there."

The painter grinned, bowing politely with his hand to his chest.

"In fact," Mario continued, "I'll be heading back to Tuscana tomorrow. I'm sure you can come with me, see how that assistant of yours is doing and then teach him a few things, no doubt. I'm sure Maria wouldn't mind a visit..."

Ezio watched his uncle drag Leonardo upstairs, making plans and smiled in gratitude. Leonardo would be able to get away safely, which was exactly what Mario intended.

Machiavelli sighed, rubbing his eyes, which were likely still covered in spots after the brightness of the Apple. "Tomorrow we shall leave as well, and head for Forli."

Ezio nodded. "It will be easier to sneak in with just two of us instead of a procession."

The younger Florentine Assassin gave a wry grin. "No doubt."

The next morning Ezio kept the Apple in a pouch hidden by his half cape. He would rather it in his saddlebags, but he couldn't count on it not being lifted. Better on his person where he could feel if anyone was close enough to steal it. The whispers were gone, which Ezio was grateful for, but he couldn't help but feel attuned to the Apple, aware of his presence hanging from his hip. He focused on ignoring it. Once it was safely locked away, Ezio would be quite happy indeed.

Ezio and Machiavelli stayed to the back roads towards small city. The July day was very warm and muggy, as Ezio expected being so close to Venice, and he kept the pace somewhat slow to spare the horses of overheating.

It was the following day that they finally crested a hill and saw the city in the distance, and Machiavelli advised Ezio to stay put while he went ahead to inform Caterina Sforza.

Ezio nodded, and found a tiny patch of woods to settle into for the day, brushing down his horse and checking all his equipment. His shoulder was feeling much better, which was good since now he needed to wear his armor again. The dry season was clearly in full swing and Forli wasn't anywhere near as flooded as it had been that winter years ago when he'd passed through with Leonardo heading to Venice.

The following day, Ezio spied Machiavelli riding up the hill with Caterina by his side, and a small platoon of green-clad Forli guards. Ezio mounted and rode down to meet them.

Caterina took one look at him as he approached and gave a sultry smile. "Well, well, look who it is."

Ezio smiled right back and offered the same seductive voice, "_Madonna_," he greeted.

The redhead smiled, "I thought when we met you were a bit special. But, an Assassin, hmmm?" she hummed appreciatively, putting her horse beside his. "Ride with me, darling," she gestured and they all turned, heading back down the hill to the city, the guards marching behind them.

"You're going to love Forli," Caterina said with a coy smile. "The cannons in the citadel alone go back a hundred years. The artifact will be quite safe there."

Ezio offered a polite bow on his horse. "Forgive me, but I've never heard of a woman ruling her own city before," he said, looking down to the city. "It's very impressive."

The redhead shrugged. "Well..." she said with a sigh, "It was my husband's before, of course. He died."

Ezio remembered the news of it coming through Venice. "Oh. I'm sorry." But that meant she wasn't attached to anyone any more. Ezio smiled at the thought, and pushed away the counter thought of his last encounter with Cristina.

Caterina smiled. "Don't be. I had him killed."

Ezio looked to one side and coughed. "Oh..." Clearly Caterina wasn't one to be trifled with.

Machiavelli was gracious enough to turn the conversation elsewhere. "We discovered Girolamo Riario was working for the Templars," he said and Ezio nodded.

"_Il Magnifico_ mentioned that he was the one conspirator that we could not kill."

"Indeed," Machiavelli nodded, still frowning. "It seems he was making a map of the locations of the remaining Codex pages."

Ezio raised his eyebrows. That would be very useful. Altair spoke of the Apple in the Codex; it might lead to more clues.

Caterina, however, shrugged. "I never liked the goddamn son of a bitch anyway. He was a lousy father, boring in bed, and a pain in my ass," she said crassly, her polite face of nobility that so impressed the Papal courts completely gone.

Some of the guards behind them chuckled. It was clear to see that Caterina inspired great loyalty.

They finally came to the flatlands around the city and continued heading south; talking of the preparations Caterina was making to ensure that the Apple was secure in her city.

As they approached the small farms outskirting the city walls, however, Machiavelli pulled his horse to a stop.

"Look," he pointed at the score or so of villagers panicked and running down the roads.

"Oh no..." Caterina muttered, urging her horse forward to the throngs of people and reached down to grab a stumbling woman and steady her.

"Wait! What's happening?" Caterina demanded.

"They came as soon as you left the city walls, _Signora_," the woman replied, rubbing at the tears streaming down her cheeks. "The city is under attack."

"What?!" Caterina gasped. "By who?"

"The Orsi brothers, _Signora_," the woman replied.

Caterina let her go and started to swear vociferously. "God damn it!' she growled.

"Who are the Orsi?" Ezio asked.

"The same _canagli_ I hired to kill my husband!" she growled.

Machiavelli's frown intensified. "It's the Spaniard of course. The Orsi have no world view bigger than their purse," he spat contemptuously.

Ezio shook his head. "But how could he know where we were taking the Apple - before we even knew?"

"Because they're not here for the Apple, Ezio," Machiavelli replied calmly. "They're after Riario's map."

"Stop with your map, Niccolo!" Caterina spat, "My children are inside! Oh, _porco demonio_!"

"Men!" Machiavelli snapped to the guards behind them. "We'll be heading into an unknown situation. Prepare yourselves!"

They gave cries of assent, the pikemen taking the lead with their long lances, and marched forward, Ezio, Caterina and Machiavelli taking the rear as they pushed carefully through the crowds, who stopped at seeing the Lady of Forli returning and seemed to become hopeful.

One small band of brigands in the reds of the Orsi bastards fighting the citadel were soon upon them, but Caterina shouted orders and backed them all up either with her horse or with her knife. It didn't take long to beat the small band and they were rushing to the city gates once again.

"They're already inside!" Caterina swore at the looming form of the closed gates. "Double-crossing bastards!"

"Is there another way into this place?" Ezio asked, eyes flickering along the battlements.

Caterina thought a moment, "Wait... Perhaps, yes!" she nodded. "There's an old tunnel under the western wall from the canal."

"_Bene_. I'll be right back."

Caterina turned to her men, but Machiavelli was already setting them up to be ready for attack, so instead, the noblewoman turned to the gates and proceeded to swear worse than a sailor at them, keeping all attention on her.

Ezio smiled and outright chuckled at some of her threats, particularly at roasting all of the men's balls and then forcing them down their own throats as he raced along the canal, hidden in the lengthening shadows of the afternoon.

He kept his eye on the walls, looking for the tunnel Caterina had mentioned. He almost remembered it from his brief time passing through with Leonardo, a gate for allowing ships in that was sealed shut with rust and age.

Ah! There it was!

Ezio dove into the water easily and swam across the canal and under the rusted iron, entering the city. No one noticed his arrival as Caterina's stationed forces were almost all locked in combat with the Orsi mercenaries. They would _need_ the reinforcements Caterina had brought with her, and Ezio ducked through the fighters, sopping wet and heavy, but otherwise unnoticed as everyone around him was stuck in their own fight.

Still, Ezio wasn't beyond thinning the ranks of the Orsi men as he raced by. A hidden blade in the back of an Osi guard certainly evened the score, though Ezio strove to stay as invisible as possible. Eventually he simply took to the roofs as too many of Orsi's men were starting to notice him as he wasn't in the same green uniform of Caterina's men.

He made his way to the city wall and killed every red guard he came across until he was finally at the gate, where Caterina was still swearing a storm at the enemies who kept her locked out of her own city. Threats of castration and impaling poles up asses to support the lack of spine were among the more tame of her insults.

Ezio opened the gates, allowing Caterina and her reinforcements to enter, his shoulder reminding him it still wasn't fully healed as he rolled the wheel that opened the doors.

"Ezio! You did it!" she called up as she ran in. "Follow me!" she shouted, she and her men racing into the city.

From there the fighting was bloody. Caterina's reinforcements certainly turned the tide and as word spread that the Sforza had returned, more and more of her men rallied around her, making a near unstoppable wall that cut through the Orsi mercenaries. With Caterina calling the orders, they organized and took out the Orsi thoroughly, using their increasing numbers to eviscerate their enemies and indeed carrying through with some of the threats Caterina had called out. But aside from the reinforcements Caterina had brought with her, the men who came to her had been fighting all day and were exhausted.

Machiavelli disappeared briefly, coming back with a small squad of doctors who started to treat the wounded as they continued to retake the city from Orsi's men.

At last, they arrived at the Rocca di Ravaldino, Forli's fortress, Caterina banging on the doors. "Open the door! Open the door! Hurry!"

But from the buildings in front of the Rocca, more of Orsi's men poured out, clearly having expected where Caterina would come and setting up an attack.

"It's an ambush!" Machiavelli shouted as they turned to face fresh men in red.

Caterina was blocked from fighting, but her men were loyal and listened to every one of her orders while Machiavelli and Ezio took the lead of the fight. The doctors were brought back with Caterina, as were the injured, leaving a thick wall of green men who would defend their comrades and noblewoman.

Ezio, meanwhile, was starting to use his smoke bombs. They confused Orsi's men and gave both him and anyone else a chance to strike. It easily cut the ambushing forces in half, and those that stumbled out of the clouds were swiftly cut down.

Ezio was starting to ache, still not quite recovered from his fight with the Spaniard and now several long hours of constant running around and fighting - and swimming, his clothes were still damp and sticky, but he was determined.

For the briefest of moments, Ezio thought the Apple reached right into his mind and ask if he sought help, but Ezio ignored it and kept pushing through his fatigue.

The red-clad men eventually beat a retreat, and the gates behind Caterina opened.

"Ezio! Niccolo! In here! Now!" she shouted. "Get your _chiappe_ asses in here! Into the citadel!"

Once inside with all her men, the gates closed behind them. More doctors came out to treat the wounded and Caterina quickly ordered for any food to be brought out so that the men could replenish some of their energy.

A maid came out, rushing to Caterina and surrounded by a small band of children.

"_Signora_!'

Caterina also rushed forward, Machiavelli taking her place and seeing to the men as she was reunited with her children.

"My babies!" she cried out, hugging them all chose and showering them with kisses. "But where are Bianca and Ottaviano?"

"Forgive me _Signora_," the maid begged, holding the baby close. "They were playing outside when the attack began... I don't know where they are..."

Caterina started swearing in earnest but was interrupted.

One of her guards from atop the citadel called down, "Reinforcements from the mountains! They are breaching the citadel!"

Caterina held her children close once more, squeezing each of them, before gesturing for the maid to send them inside. "Ezio," she growled, "don't let those _bastardi_ get in here!"

Ezio nodded and Machiavelli shouted, "With me!"

Together they scaled up to the citadel walls. Caterina stayed below, shouting out orders about canons and preparing to repel invaders, get the injured inside with the doctors, and clear a supply line for arrows to get up to the archers on the citadel walls.

On the walls, Ezio and Machiavelli were fighting back any of the Orsi's men who made it up the walls, leaving Caterina's men free to let arrows fly over the canal to the attackers and canons to break up the lines and create chaos.

It was a long battle. Canons could not aim down to the water where small boats of men had set up ladders to scale the walls and the archers could not see everything. Ezio was almost in a constant state of looking with his inner eagle to spy where they were coming from next and alerting anyone so that they were prepared. Injured archers were quickly sent down and treated men were sent up to replace them, the sun well sunk below the horizon and the darkness of night obscuring any movements save what Ezio could see with his special sight.

It was well past midnight when the invasion was finally repelled. Sentries were posted and Caterina saw to it that every man was treated, fed, given wine, and otherwise taken care of.

Ezio allowed himself to steal some sleep in the shadows of the battlements, though he kept an ear open for anything, and as dawn rose, he went below to get something to eat other than the trail mix he had with him.

But with the dawn came new problems.

"Caterina! Caterina Sforza! I know you're in there!"

Caterina of course made her way up to the battlements, Ezio and Machiavelli close behind, as were a small contingent of archers and guards.

"Those _bastardi_ think they can negotiate? _Negotiate_? We'll see about that," Caterina grumbled, the sun dazzling all of them as they exited the battlements into its light, but Caterina marched forward, making herself visible to the two men, obviously brothers, and their squad of guards. "What do you want?" she demanded, voice foul as her mood.

One of the brothers smiled. "I have something you may want back," he called up from the square. He shared a wry grin with his brother. "Are you missing any children?"

Caterina stiffened, stepping closer to the edge of the rampart, and Ezio came up behind her, casting a measured gaze down at the men below. The spokesmen spotted him at once.

"And Ezio Auditore...!" he called up. "What a pleasant surprise."

"... I take it you would be the Orsi brothers," he called down, glancing at Caterina. She was white with shock, struggling to get control of herself as her mind obviously raced through the possibilities of the Orsi brothers having her children.

Below, the two bowed graciously and introduced themselves. "Ludovico–" said the quiet one.

"–And Checco," said the spokesman. "At your service."

The polite greeting was met with a growl from the noble woman. "Enough!" she shouted. "Where are my children? Let them go!"

"Of course Signora," Ludovico said courteously, voice dripping with venom. "We'll happily give them back – for something of yours. A certain map?"

"And a certain Apple, brother," Checco added, perhaps the smarter of the two as he eyed Ezio, assuming his presence meant the Apple was there, too. Ezio cursed that it had become so obvious. The crowd around the Orsi murmured, several priests shook their heads, and a few citizens tried to hide themselves better.

"_Sì_," Ludovico said, nodding sagely. He looked up, eyeing Caterina directly. "A certain Apple indeed," he called up, "Or shall I slice your babies' necks ear to ear?" He emphasized the point by making a gesture along his neck, pantomiming the murder he had just threatened.

Ezio looked to Caterina, just in time to see her eyes widen in shock before it twisted into rage.

"_Bastardi_!" she cursed, indignant. "You think you can threaten me? I'll give you _nothing!_ You want my children? _Take them!_ I have the instrument to make more!" And she stepped up to the edge of the rampart and boldly lifted her dress, displaying her womanhood for all to see as proof of her spite.

The brothers shared an incredulous look with each other, clearly expecting a different reaction - Ezio, too, was still staring in shock - but quickly recovered.

"When you change your mind," the spokesman Checco shouted up, "they'll be in the village outside the city – You have one hour."

And they withdrew.

Caterina watched them go, shaking, and only when they were gone did her anger slip away, and she took a shaky breath, exhaling in a desperate sob. A hand reached up to cover her face, and she turned away, holding her stomach.

She... she was going to do it.

She was going to sacrifice two of her _children_ so that Ezio could hold the Apple and the map here in safekeeping. Such a sacrifice... he couldn't allow it, he couldn't even _ask_ of it - how could he, when he knew the loss of his own family? And _children_...

"Caterina," he said softly, touching her shoulder, listening to her sobs, "no... I can't ask you to sacrifice your children."

The hand covering her face disappeared, and watery eyes looked up to him in fierce determination.

"Nobody's sacrificing _anything_," she hissed. "Go get them back for me Ezio. Get them back and _kill them_."

Ezio nodded. "_Sì_, you have my word."

It was an enormous display of trust that this woman, so independent, so fiery, would trust the rescue of her children to him. Ezio returned the favor, pulling out the pouch and giving it to her. "The Apple needs to remain in the citadel. Keep this safe. There is an old assassin tomb here, in the guardhouse; only an assassin can get to it, have Machiavelli take it there."

"Whatever you wish," Caterina said. "But hurry, time is wasting."

Only an hour. Yes.

Ezio saw a beam with pigeons roosting on it, and a glance saw a hay cart below, and so he leapt off the battlements and down into the city, pulling himself out of the hay cart and making his way to the city gates. He followed the direction the Orsi brothers had departed, and asked his eagle for help to see where they had gone. He exited the north gate; there were many buildings outside the city, but most of them were concentrated in the north, and he quickly merged into the crowds there, listening to the citizens' murmurs about what a bad deed this was, wondering how their Lady would deal with the crisis.

Most of the buildings were nondescript, and the peasantry was as dull as the structures themselves. In point of fact, it made the presence of guards obvious, and the thick mass of them near a crossroad told Ezio everything he needed to know. He climbed to the roof of a one-story building, peaking his head around to see two guards on roofs, the clear center of troop concentration and the obvious place to guard a pair of children.

Hopping back down to the road, he circled around. The guards on the roof had to be dealt with first, but with two practically facing each other, how to do it? He ascended another building, at a different angle, and studied. If he could sneak up on one... yes, and then a throwing knife? He would have to be very quick. Ezio rolled his injured shoulder, testing its strength. The soreness would slow him down, but he felt he could be fast enough.

Taking a deep breath, he worked his way to the roof guard closest to him; one hand kept a firm grip on a throwing knife. A white shadow, he snuck up to the guard and stabbed him in the back, and as he grunted Ezio threw the knife at the opposite guard, catching him in the throat. Both fell almost simultaneously, and Ezio tensed, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble, but neither body fell to the ground, and no alarm was struck, and Ezio allowed himself a small sigh in relief before peaking his head out over the edge of the building.

"Is this all the men you have to hold me?" a young voice asked. "Fools. It won't be enough. My mamma is fierce. We Sforza women are no wilting flowers. We may look pretty to the eye, but the eyes deceive. Just ask Father. I hope you don't imagine I'm scared of you. You'd be sorely mistaken. My mamma would never let you hurt me."

Ezio smiled. Like mother, like daughter.

There were two guards flanking the young Bianca, one of them turned to tell the tiny girl to shut up. Ezio watched and waited, eying the patrols at the end of the lane, but none came near the girl, secure that she was well guarded. Ezio shook his head. Fools, indeed.

His two hidden blades extended, Ezio leapt into the air and let gravity do the rest, the metal plunging into the necks of the two guards and breaking his short fall.

"_Grazie! Grazie Messere!_" the girl said brightly. Ezio shushed her, eying the crossroad and readying his poison blade.

"Stay here a moment longer," he whispered, moving even before the child nodded. Slowly, Ezio crept forward and leaned against the corner of a building, eying the approaching patrol from under his hood. As they began to merge to the larger road, Ezio pushed himself off the building and casually bumped into one of the guards, stabbing him with his poison and walking away. He could hear the gurgle, and didn't watch as the others turned to see what the matter was. He had the distraction he needed, and backtracked to Bianca, grabbing her hand and helping her run around the houses before hitting the main road much father down.

"Where is your brother?" he asked, stopping only when he saw the green of the Forli guards at the gate beginning to mass.

"They are holding Ottaviano at the lighthouse," she said brightly, happy to be of help. "He's such a baby, he cried when they took us. I'm _much_ better _Messere_, and I can tell you would make a _fine_ husband! A prince to the rescue!"

"I am no prince_, piccina_," Ezio said, using Claudia's nickname. "Go to the gates, the guards will take care of you."

"I want _you_ to take care of me, _Messere_. And when a Sforza woman wants something, she _gets_ it."

Just like her mother indeed!

But Ezio had no time for her fantasy and ran off as soon as the guards came up. He grabbed the first horse he found, ignoring the curses and cries of "Horse thief!" and took off at a hard gallop south. There were several lighthouses spotted along Forli, but only one close enough to meet the hour deadline.

The lighthouse was an older structure, decaying from all the floods over the years, but still firm enough to do its purpose and guide ships up river to the city's nearby ports. He saw some barrels leading up to an outcrop of the structure, the mini-rampart manned by two guards. Nodding to himself, Ezio ran up the barrels, hooking his hands around the edge of the outcrop. One guard, oblivious to the hands in the early morning light, stood right above him, and Ezio had no trouble assassinating him from the ledge, swinging the body over his head and down below. The second guard heard the crash and came to investigate, giving Ezio a second target.

His shoulder throbbed from the unwanted exercise, he really wasn't fully healed for this, and he took a moment to breath once he hoisted himself up to the rampart.

Someone above must have heard the noise, and Ezio took a moment to recognize the voice of the quieter Orsi brother, Ludovico.

"You want to see your boy walk again, Caterina? Give us what we want or I'll throw him off the edge!"

"Mamma! Help me! I don't want to be here anymore!"

Growling to himself, Ezio scanned the lighthouse. Several beams were sticking out of the circular structure, set up for repair perhaps, and Ezio was quick to pull himself up to one - pulling at his bad shoulder, and jumping from one beam to the next.

"Shut up kid. Let's go Caterina! Show yourself! The Apple and the map or your kid's a cripple."

Ezio mentally swore that wouldn't happen, reaching the last pole he could find and finding he was high enough to reach up and grab the outcroppings of the tower. Ezio grunted at the strain on his shoulder and pulled himself up to the lighthouse proper. Two guards paced about it, and Ezio waited until both were past before checking where the shadows fell, and leaping up to the protective grating surrounding the fire, now banked with the morning light. The irons were still warm to the touch, but not hot, and Ezio easily made his way higher up, to the top of the tower where Lodovico Orsi and little Ottaviano were. The boy was complaining again.

"I have to pee. Please _Messere_. I need to go to the bathroom. Just let me go pee."

"For God's sake kid, shut the hell up. Caterina! Where are you, bitch?"

"_Messere!_"

Ludovico turned to growl at the boy again, and Ezio took his cue, pulling himself up and stabbing the Orsi in the back. Ludovico grunted as the assassin lowered him to the ground, but when he looked up he only smiled.

"Caterina was a fool to send you," he moaned, blood trickling out of his mouth.

Ezio shook his head. "Or are you the fool, dying for a handful of change? Was it worth it?"

He laughed. "More than you know... the _Maestro_ gains his prize, because of me."

Borgia? How? Ezio shook his head, putting the worry aside as he could. The boy came first.

"Die with your pride, for all it's worth," he said, reaching up and closing the body's eyes. "_Requiescat in pace_."

"_Grazie Signore!_" Ottaviano said when Ezio cut the ropes, and without further ado the child pulled down his pants and, as he had pleaded, took a piss, sighing in relief. Ezio chuckled slightly before picking the body up and tossing it over the edge of the tower, the Orsi body signaling that there was no money to be made this day. After twenty minutes, the last of the guards had fled, and Ezio picked up the boy, carrying him down the tower while he was pestered and pestered and _pestered_ with inane questions.

The horse he had ridden was shockingly still there, flicking an ear at the two in boredom, before Ezio mounted and backtracked to the northern gate, entering into the city to see a flood of Forli guards, and it wasn't long before Ottaviano was whisked away, and Ezio informed that Caterina needed to see him immediately.

Ezio made his way to the Rocco di Ravaldino, the people tentatively beginning to fill the streets again at the signs of quiet, but as he approached the bridge he saw Caterina, hands covered in blood, and Machiavelli, holding his bloody side, come dashing out of the fortress.

"What are you doing out here?" Ezio asked. Was the city safe now?

"I'm so sorry, Ezio," Caterina said, reaching out almost to touch him. "I'm so sorry."

"What happened?"

"It was a trick," Caterina explained, her voice tight. "To lower our defenses."

"As soon as you left, they attacked again. Checco Orsi, he caused a diversion at the gates while he hired a small band of thieves to sneak in from the city wall." He winced, clutching his side again. "He has the Apple!"

"_What_!?" Ezio shouted, his voice echoing off the square. All that work, a dozen years of searching to _get_ the damnable thing and to not even lay claim to it for a week. _Gone?_ There would be hell to pay! "No! Where is he?" he demanded, rich baritone rough with intent.

"We chased him out here," Machiavelli explained. "He's been gone for some hours, and we only just now realized it has been stolen. The bastard's escaped to the mountains, we know that much, and-"

That was all Ezio needed to hear. "I'm going!" he declared, turning on his heel and marching south. He remembered the road from his winter travels with Leonardo, all his backtracking and merging back and forth. He had a good idea which path Checco Orsi would take if he wanted to rush to his master. "Bring me a horse!" he ordered. "The fastest one you have!" The Orsi had several hours head start; he needed to close that distance swiftly.

A well-built black stallion was waiting for him at the southern gate, and Ezio took off at a gallop, heading southwest towards the Apennine Mountains. The steed sensed Ezio's anxiety, it made the beast flighty and skittish, but Ezio mastered the animal quickly and pushed him into a ground-eating rhythm. He kept low to the saddle, feeling his half cape flitter in the wind. For three hours he pushed the horse, slowing only when absolutely necessary, panting himself as he opened his eagle and searched left and right, praying to his father to find some fleck of gold, some intuition on which road to take. He was well up into the mountains now, the humid air thinning slightly.

The main highways were packed with people, thick traffic making for slow going. Ezio hoped that his target was slowed as well, as he finally gave in to impatience and yanked his horse off center of the road, riding several meters away before once more pushing the animal to a gallop. The uneven ground made the skittish horse uncertain of its footing, but Ezio reassured it as best he could, coaxing it to a faster gate as his head swiveled left and right.

He reached one of the few villages on the mountain road, talking to a stable boy and trading out for a fresh horse, as he took to the roads again, listening, looking, searching for anything that would tell him he was on the right trail, trying not to doubt himself, willing himself to stay calm. If Borgia got his hands on the Apple...!

At last, a fleck of gold, and Ezio's head snapped so far to his left he pulled the muscle connected to his bad shoulder. He winced, a hand instinctively going up to massage the abused muscle - his riding around for hours on end was _certainly_ not helping - and saw the dark head and blue-grey of the Orsi. Ezio wasted no time with the recognition; he wheeled his horse around and kicked it to a fresh gallop.

Checco Orsi saw the pursuit, and did the same with his own horse.

It wasn't long before both were well off the road, climbing the forested mountains for purchase. Orsi's horse was nimbler, but Ezio's was fresher, and it was a trade off on who was catching up and who was pulling away. Checco shouted threats and abuses behind him, but they fell on deaf ears, all Ezio cared about was getting that damn artifact back and preventing Borgia from ever, _ever_ getting it.

They burst onto a road again, surprising both of them but Ezio had the advantage here, and he pressed his horse into a full gallop, easily gaining ground on Orsi. Checco tried to pull into the mountains again, but Ezio had the ground he needed, and leapt off his horse, slamming his weight into Orsi and pulling him down to the ground. He angled the fall, making Checco take the brunt of it, and landed on top; they rolled a few times but Ezio came up the victor, knees straddling the bastard. Pain burst in his side from the scuffle, but he ignored it, utterly focused on his objective. A quick check of his pockets found the embroidered pouch, unharmed, and Ezio took it.

"So," Checco said, grinning faintly, "You have your prize again."

Ezio looked down upon his target. "Was it worth it?" he asked. "So much bloodshed?"

The Orsi brother laughed, weakly. "A prize of such value, it will not remain yours for long."

"... We shall see," Ezio answered, feeling heat emanating from his side but ignoring it again. He extended his hidden blade, sweating profusely, and sank it into Orsi's neck, so deep in protruded from the other side, and he twisted the blade to be certain, before pulling it out. Checco Orsi still had a smile on his face.

But now no one would know where the Apple was. He could return it to Forli, or find somewhere else to hide it.

"What wretched things are born of greed," he muttered, contemplating the body, the Orsi, and the bloody battle they had wrought. "_Requiescat in pace_."

The pain in his side finally entered his attention, and it _exploded_ when he moved to get up. What had he hit to cause such pain?

But when he looked down, he saw not dented armor, but the hilt of a knife. When...? He looked down to Orsi. Bastard. No wonder he had been grinning. The blade was just below his armor, and angled upward. Deep, he could tell, it felt like his entire abdomen was burning - no wonder he was sweating.

His breath coming out in shorter and shorter gasps, he wrapped his fists around the hilt, and forced himself to take a deep breath, yanking the dagger out. Blood spurted out of the wound, his stomach was _on fire_, and his vision swam dangerously, making him reach out and prevent himself from collapsing. Why was the ground so soft? So squishy? He looked and took several moment to comprehend he was braced against a body. Who's body? Never mind, not important, he had to stop the bleeding.

Ezio reached behind him to grab his pack, and his shoulder erupted in pain, blurring his vision again, the muscles strained from all their work and complaining in tandem with his abdomen. He took a hot, shuddering breath and made himself work through the pain, asking the eagle in his mind for help as he drew on the intense focus of the bird, trying to will away the pain and reach for the pack he had been taught to carry. His grip was weak, he couldn't figure out how to unfasten the button, and his fingers were getting numb, unable to feel what he needed. He also realized he couldn't treat the wound until he took the armor off first. Idiot, Alfeo would have his hide for this.

Panting, he reached up to try and unfasten his armor, but doing so pulled at his stomach, and for a moment everything was white with agony, and he decided now might be a good time to get help.

He took another deep breath, drawing on his strength and willing himself to his feet. He staggered slightly, and looked around for the horses. If he could get on them...

The July sun seemed very bright, and that confused him, because when he looked up he saw it was very cloudy. Rain was coming in over the mountains. He had to get back to... to... where...?

Something pulsed in his hand, and he looked down, dimly confused. A pouch?

Yes, the Apple... he had to get it to safety... Where were the horses...?

Everything grayed out, and Ezio had the odd sensation of tipping backwards. He may have fainted for the fact that hitting the ground _hurt everything_, and he gasped, curling slightly around his abdomen, and watched numbly as the pouch rolled out of his hands.

He had to get it back. He had to get it somewhere safe. He had to...

Feet passed into his vision, pausing contemplatively over the pouch. A hand missing the little finger reached down. Did he mean to take...? Wait...

"Wait... Don't..." Ezio wasn't sure how loud his words were, his heartbeat sounded loud and erratic in his ears. His body was soaked in sweat and his breathing was hot and ragged. "Who are you?" he tried again. Black robes... Beads... A priest? A monk? Why was he so interested in the pouch, what about good Samaritans?

His vision started to swim, he could feel himself slipping away, but struggled to hold on. There were whispers in his head, protestations, _anger_, _subjugation_, _eradication of sin_. Power was pulsing from the pouch, the Apple had come active again, Ezio had to stop it.

"Stop... Don't open it..."

He looked up, tried to see the face, wondering if he could be heard. No one could use the Apple.

No one...

He had to stop...

He...

* * *

"It's your move, brother."

Chessboard. White versus black. He was black. His move.

... Huh?

He looked up, the motion difficult; he was _exhausted_. The boy across from him only smiled.

"... Petruccio?"

"_There he is! I've found him! Over here!_"

"It's your move, brother!"

"... What...?"

"Did you get the feathers?"

He blinked, looking back down at the board. His limbs felt like cast iron, it was a struggle to lift his hand up and move his knight, splitting Petruccio's bishop and rook. Was that the move he was supposed to make? The board was fuzzy, he couldn't be sure. "Feathers..." he mumbled, feeling warm.

"_My God! Look at all the blood, what's happened to him?_"

"_Where's the Apple?_"

Apple... that was important... He blinked again, lethargic, confused. He looked to Petruccio, but he only smiled at him.

"Yes, the feathers. Did you get them?"

"Yes... I've gotten many, many feathers." Fistfuls at a time. Eagle feathers, hawk feathers, pigeon feathers. All different shapes, all different sizes, all for a box that... that... "What are you going to do with all of them?"

"They're quills!" Petruccio said brightly. "For Mother! She writes so much, and goes through many quills. I needed to collect feathers, and then Federico was going to show me how to make a quill, and then I would give her enough quills to last the rest of her life, so she'd never have to worry about them again. For her birthday."

He stared at Petruccio, blinking slowly, his brain thick and foggy. Quills? When had she last written? She's been still for so long...

... Why was she so still?

Why was it so hard to think, to remember?

"It's your _move_, brother."

"Baby brother is feeling lazy, Petruccio, give him a minute."

He didn't want to move, it was too much work, but the voice made him try to swivel his head, to look past Petruccio.

"_Hang on, Ezio, the doctor's almost here._"

"_I've never seen a fever like this, I don't know if he'll last._"

"_Hold your tongue before I cut it out! Ignore him, _mio caro_, you're going to be just fine, do you hear me? If you don't I'll kill you myself._"

"Federico...?"

Twenty years old, bright faced, smiling brightly. Why wasn't that right? Why did he picture a solemn face, cool and closed off like it never was. With a rope...?

His heart tightened, his body tensed, and his breath quickened.

This wasn't right.

This wasn't _right_...

Where was he...?

He tried to back away, afraid, uncertain, and full of stones for all that he could move. He made a soft, hitched moan; everything was hot, the chessboard was gone, and he couldn't understand where he was. He looked around, but all he could make out was Petruccio and Federico, and _that wasn't right,_ because... because...

He shook his head, faintly, weakly, and leaned back. "What's going on here?" he mumbled, his voice cracking.

"You _were_ playing chess, baby brother," Federico said, "But I think maybe your mind isn't in the game. Walk with me."

And they were in the courtyard of the villa in Florence, walking out the gates and into the streets, packed with faceless people, noises dim and far away. It was still hot, his body ached, and everything seemed to move so slowly.

"What do you think?" Federico asked, pointing to a gaggle of girls. "Do any of them strike your fancy? You still need to practice, don't you? For the girl that will hold your heart after Cristina."

"... What...?"

"I'm still older than you, you know," Federico said brightly, warmly, wrapping a strong arm around his shoulders. He felt like he was floating. "That means there are still a lot of things I haven't taught you."

He blinked, confused, everything felt fuzzy. He tried to ask a question. "Did you know about it? Any of it?"

Federico nodded. "I told you, didn't I? He told me on my twentieth birthday, and he would have done the same for you. Same for Claudia, too, and Petruccio."

"Then you knew...?"

"What was happening? No. I'd only just started training, baby brother; I was hardly ready for a conspiracy of that size. He explained it to me after, in the Signoria. It was a lot to take in, believe me. How did you take it, when you finally figured it all out?"

"I..."

"_Get me more leeches. And more towels. And more wine. Damn it, hold the candle steady!_"

Suddenly his stomach exploded in pain, and he clutched it, hissing and wondering what was happening.

"Easy, easy, baby brother."

And strong hands were holding his shoulders, and he leaned into the embrace. He hadn't been held like this in so long... it felt... it felt...

"My son, I am so proud of you."

"... Father..." He clutched the body in front of him, afraid to look up, afraid of what he would see. It felt so _good_, to have these achingly familiar strong arms wrapped around him. He felt secure, safe, warm and content; a child in his father's embrace, certain that everything was right with the world. A strong, calloused hand brought his head under his father's chin, and he could remember the scent: ink and paper and sweat, oil and metal, the unique scent of his precious, precious father.

"You have done more than I have ever imagined, Ezio."

"I... I tried, Father. I _tried_. I just wanted... Mother has stopped talking and... and Claudia tries so hard to be strong... I... I just wanted... I tried to..."

"Rest easy, son. It's all right."

"But, I kept letting them get away. Lorenzo, _Il Magnifico_, he almost died because of me, and Jacopo de' Pazzi, and _Doge_ Mocenigo. There's been so much death over this; it's taken me so _long_... And now, I've lost..."

"No, Ezio, it's taken the time you _need_. Look at me."

He was afraid to, afraid what he would see, but Giovanni brooked no refusal, gently guiding him to look up.

And he saw a proud, smiling, face.

He wept.

"Father... _Father...!_"

"_It's a miracle he's lasted this long. The night will be the deciding factor._"

He pressed his face back into his father, unable to maintain eye contact. He cried, sobbed into that strong shoulder, as a child, clutching the embroidered coat, the linens, wrapping his arms around the neck, taking deep shuddering breaths, and he _wept_. And the strong arms held him, gentle, firm, loving, everything that he remembered, rocking back and forth slightly, and one hand rubbing his back.

"I love you, too, Ezio. My precious son."

"Father...! It's been so hard without you! I didn't know what to do!"

"But you did what you had to, my son, and you did it well. _Exceedingly_ well. Don't ever tell yourself different."

"But...!"

"No buts, Ezio. You need to know that more than any questions you have of me: _you have done well_. And you will continue to do well, even with regards to the Piece of Eden. You will find it, or it will find you, when the time is right."

And all he could feel was relief...

"Now, wake up."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Oh, look, the DLC, the Battle of Forli. Which of course we cannibalized for our own purposes. And some of you may have remembered us mentioning a fever dream, oh, several chapters ago...

Okay, yeah. Caterina aside (because her arc obviously isn't done yet), we thought this DLC was the perfect place to put in a scene like this. Belying the fact that Ezio passes out clean shaven and waked up with a beard and _freakishly_ pale, it made sense that he probably had a near death experience of some kind, and we really wanted some kind of affirmation of his work. Weary though he gets by ACR, he never doubts _what_ he does or _why_ he does it, only whether it will end. Given his words in Venice before he faces Borgia about what it was all for, we both figured something like this _had_ to happen, and the DLC was too perfect for it. It's one thing to feel good about being an assassin when he was inducted, it's another entirely to finally feel pride in his work. His family haunts him for the rest of his life, it has to pop up somewhere.

And now that the DLC has begun, so, too, has the ten year timeskip. Let the whining begin. Very roughly, it's split into two chapters(ish), five years apiece. Next chapter (obviously) wraps up the Forli DLC and covers the first five years of the gap. Our beta thought the pacing was more than fine, and we hope that you all enjoy it as well.

Also, enjoy the end of the world today!

Next chapter: Caterina Sforza, and reuniting with his family. Ezio might be in for a shock...


	23. Spanish Inquisition

**Part Twenty-Three: The Spanish Inquisition**

It felt like his entire body was on fire, everything ached, and he couldn't get comfortable. He opened his eyes, blearily, but could not understand the blurry shapes he saw, made no sense of the noises in his ears. And so he closed his eyes and drifted back.

When next he woke, he still had a fever, he could tell from the sweat. His chin itched, though he didn't understand why, and turning over in bed was unmitigated _agony_. He awoke several times after that, becoming more and more aware of the fact that he was ill, until at last he woke up without the hazy pain of the fever. He was in a bed he was unfamiliar with, the sheets and blankets long since kicked off because of his sickness.

Weak, he tried to reach down for the linens, he was finally chilled, and he wanted to get warm.

Doing so caused a flare of pain in his side, he hissed and clutched at his abdomen, and doing so made him remember bits of what happened. The Apple...!

He made it halfway to his feet before he fainted from his weakness.

When next he woke, it was daylight and, groaning, he discovered there was a person watching over him.

"Ezio!" Caterina Sforza's beautiful face filled his vision. "Thank God, you're back with us. Are you all right? What happened to you?"

Bits of memory filled his vision. "I... I don't know..."

"One of my guards had the luck to find you in the hills, next to Checco Orsi's dead body. You had nearly bled out..."

"_Sì_... I remember..." Ezio said, sinking into the pillows and closing his eyes. Checco had stabbed him after they fell from the horses; grinning and proud even in death. Ezio had pulled the knife out, but couldn't reach his medicine pack. He had been looking for horses and... "Wait..." he said, his eyes snapping open. "There was a third man... He took the Apple!"

Caterina nodded. "We didn't find the Apple anywhere near you. Who was it?"

Bright sunlight despite thick clouds, the scent of rain, and... "He wore a black robe. Like a monk... I think I saw rosary beads. And I think... a missing finger?" A hand clutching the Apple, active and glowing, whispers in his ears. "_Sì_! Caterina, I have to go - right away!" He moved to sit up and his vision faded almost completely to black, his body falling back into the bedding and leaving him panting. "What...?"

"You're not going anywhere any time soon, _mio caro_," Caterina said, reaching up and touching his suddenly warm head with cool fingers. "You nearly died from the stab wound, the _bastardo_ used a dirty knife. You've had a fever for the last five days, no one thought you were going to live."

"_It's your move, brother!"_

_ "I'm still older than you, you know. That means there are still a lot of things I haven't taught you."_

_ "You have done more than I have ever imagined, Ezio."_

"Then... that was just a dream...?" He shook his head, suddenly exhausted. He would have to put it aside. "Five days, you said?"

"Six, if you include how long it took to find you."

"_Merda_, then he could be anywhere by now."

"I know. Niccolo's already gone, trying to track it down. We know it's a priest or a monk now, with black robes. That will help. I'll send a courier to him. You, in the meantime, need sleep. The doctor will see to you soon."

The meeting with the doctor turned into quite a fight. The man seemed to think that Ezio had regenerated enough blood that now it was time to get the bad blood out, already pulling out a jar of leeches. This lead to several _pronounced_ protests, enough that Caterina, hearing some of Ezio's finer curses, decided she agreed with the assassin and ordered the doctor to put the damnable beasts away. This left Ezio weak, however, and forced him to capitulate to the other demands of the doctor without complaint.

The stitches to his side, he learned healed well; though this was no surprise to him as his other cases of stitching generally followed the same pattern. The only exception was the scar on his lip - but those were extenuating circumstances. His shoulder, also, was much better since his trials, and overall he was left very surprised at the overpowering weakness he felt.

As it was it was a week before he could get up and walk round Caterina's _palazzo_, and that _irked_ him to no end.

Caterina, however, proved to be exceedingly patient with his recovery, treating him to the finest guest chambers in her home, visiting him every day, giving him all his favorite foods - even saltless bread, which the very scent of had left his mouth _watering_. How long had it been! He met and learned about the children, Ottaviano enamored with him, but Bianca apparently didn't like a man who was so weak after a measly little stabbing, and had lost interest in him as a potential husband - Ezio sighed in relief at that, and Caterina laughed outright when she found out, eying him even more appreciatively.

It was the end of August when he was finally strong enough to enter the city - slowly - and the fresh air tickled at his beard, making him rub his chin. The itchiness had passed, for the most part, and looking in a mirror he found he liked the dark hair against his skin - incredibly pale as it had become. It was also one less thing to do in the morning; he had initially kept himself clean-shaven in honor of his father, but now he felt he could strike out on his own, and the beard helped him feel more secure in that decision. He _did,_ however, keep it well groomed. He learned quickly that the longer it got the harder it was to maintain. He had no idea how Leonardo could handle his own facial hair, and wrote a letter asking about it when he had the chance.

Claudia had been thrilled to finally get a letter from him, if her reply was any indication, and had, after consultation, a long list of foods he was supposed to eat to regain his strength - which Ezio stoutly ignored if only because the type of food had nothing to do with strength - food was food, and any of it was good for him.

By the end of September, he started to retrain his body, performing some simple running and climbing, and a few light spars to get him back into shape. Caterina, surprisingly, fought with him, swearing and giving pointers all the way; and her guards cheered her on. Ezio learned she had trained the Forli guards herself - no wonder they had been so useful in the battle earlier that year, and the exercise invigorated him.

That night, _he_ invigorated_ her_. And for several nights Ezio received exercise such as he had never known.

"_You_," she said firmly one night, "Are decidedly _not_ boring in bed, _mio caro_."

"I should hope not," he said, running his fingers through her hair, his other hand massaging her ass.

"My husband would be _very_ jealous."

"Too bad he's dead."

Caterina snorted. "I meant my _new_ husband."

_That_ killed the mood. Immediately. "You remarried?"

"Yes," the Countess said, surprised at the shift in atmosphere. "Last month. We're keeping secret for now, I still haven't heard word about whether or not I'll be named Ottaviano's regent, and I don't want anything to hurt that."

Ezio shook his head, sitting up and reaching for his clothes. Images of Duccio, Claudia's tears, Cristina and what he'd done to her, all filled his mind. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't do this. You're _married_."

Caterina sat up, naked and beautiful, and looked at him in surprise. "That _bothers_ you? From what I heard..."

"No," Ezio said, pulling up his pants, hopping slightly and wincing at the new scar on his abdomen. "Not married girls. I won't do that to them. I _can't_."

"_Mio caro..._" But something in her eyes changed, and she nodded. "You're better than I even thought, Ezio. I'm remiss to have lost you. But know this," she added, getting to her feet and blocking his exit. She once more reached down and grabbed him, fondling and caressing. "Marriage doesn't mean all that much to me, Ezio; and I think you should know by now I bed who I _want_. And you, _mio caro_, are _definitely_ worth wanting." She placed one long, open mouthed, exploratory kiss to his neck, licking and sucking before shifting up to his lips. When she was satisfied, she pulled away, licking her lips suggestively, and arching an eyebrow. "You know where to find me," she said.

Ezio left quickly, and spent the rest of the night staring out the window of his chambers, working to release the leftover desire, cursing all the way.

The next day he left, and Caterina personally escorted him to the gates of the city, eying him greedily but also with a layer of understanding.

"A final gift," she said suddenly, handing over a rolled piece of parchment. "You will need this."

Wary of her intentions, he took the paper and unrolled it, turning it about until he realized what it was.

"The map Niccolo spoke of. Your husband's-"

"_Ex_-husband, _mio caro_. He swore he'd uncovered the locations of all the Codex pages. You will recover the Apple, but you'll never find the Vault without this." And she gave him one last kiss on the lips before spanking his horse and sending him off.

And she watched him go until long after he had disappeared into the hills.

* * *

Ezio stopped at every church, monastery, abbey, and random priest he could find from Romagna to Tuscany, asking about monks dressed in black with rosary beads, missing a finger on the left hand. Nobody knew anything, and so when he arrived in Monteriggioni in early October, he felt as though little enough had been accomplished.

Monteriggioni, however, was a different matter entirely.

After eight years away, the twenty-nine year old discovered that the city had done _quite_ well for itself. The city wall, once crumbling and in obvious need of repair, now stood tall and sturdy, any hints of damage long since disappeared. There was a steady throng of traffic coming in and out of the city, the stables had been torn down and rebuilt - larger than ever, and filled with horses, as he discovered when he went to stable his. Every building inside had been repaired and repainted, the church was up and running, and when he climbed to the roof, he saw that barracks had been repaired and upgraded. Also, he saw the rich colors of a _bordello_, something he thought Claudia would _never_ approve of, and the banners of a thief's guild. The main street was filled with shops: art, apothecary, Santino's smithy, the bank, Claudia's tailor, and a new butcher shop, and a cooper, and Orazio opened up an architect office.

Easily for an hour, Ezio just wandered the streets in awe.

Then he went up to the villa.

The gardens had been completely redone - only the trees remained. What was once withered and brown even during the summer was a lush green - even though it was October! All the flowerbeds held autumn blooms; they even encircled the training ring. The villa itself, all the windows had been replaced, freshly cleaned, the façade perfect. And above it all, Assassin flags flew in the wind: red, white, black, and beautiful. Everything shined in the October sun, and Ezio felt...

He felt home.

He hoped his father could see this from Heaven, and that he was proud.

With that bemused thought, he entered the villa, lowering his hood, and looked around. The grand staircase had a fresh carpet at its feet; potted plants had been brought in and cared for. He walked up to the second level, entering the gallery to see that Mario had made great use of Vincenzo. He saw many copies of Leonardo's works, recognizing his friend's style, but also finding other artists that he'd heard of or not, every wall covered with beautiful paintings and lit beautifully. Even his loft rooms, before rough wood and unfinished, had been redone, and his own paintings, the ones he'd completed, were hung with artful care.

He was staring at the last portrait he had done, Jacopo de' Pazzi, realizing he had many more to finish or hang, when he heard a startled gasp. Spinning around, he saw a servant - not Annetta - staring at him.

"_Signora!_" she suddenly shouted, startling Ezio. "_Signora!_ He's here! He's _here_!"

And she grabbed his wrist and all but yanked him back down to the main entry, shouting "_Signora!_" all the way, before exploding into the main office and parading him to the desk where Claudia sat, going over accounts, if his first glance was accurate.

The brunette looked up. "Ezio!" She cried, standing up. "You're back!"

But Ezio was staring at something else entirely.

"_Piccina_," he whispered, pole-axed. "Your belly..."

For, indeed, his twenty-seven year old sister, innocent to the world, had a belly swollen, up and out and high on her body, and it pressed against him when she hugged him tightly.

"Oh, that's old news, Ezio," Claudia said brightly, positively _glowing_, "I can't believe you made it back! We weren't sure you'd be here for the birth, but now here you are! Ulderico will be so please-"

"I'll _kill_ him," Ezio growled, pulling back to stare at her. "I'll _kill_ him!" _His_ sister, deflowered! Pregnant...! That... that... _bastardo!_

"I _married_ him, Ezio, what made you think this _wouldn't_ happen?"

"_I'll kill that bastard_!"

It took an hour for Ezio to remotely acclimate himself to the idea that _his sister_ was married and pregnant, another hour to wrap his head around the fact that killing Ulderico would _not_ make it go away, and _another_ hour after _that_ before he finally realized that Claudia was _happy_. When he at last noticed it, blinking and staring like he had been for hours, something in the back of his mind relaxed, and his shoulders lowered, and he hugged his sister tightly before pressing his hand to her swollen abdomen.

"Welcome to the Auditore," he whispered softly, and he kissed her stomach before cupping her face with his hand and doing the same to her forehead.

He would still kill Ulderico, but now it would have to be in the training ring. An accident.

"But that's not the only news, Ezio," Claudia said happily. "Come with me."

And he was once more led, this time upstairs.

"Mother! Mother, look who I found!"

The two siblings wandered into Maria's chambers, Ezio already pulling out his vast collection of feathers for her precious feather box, and saw that she was sitting at the foot of the bed. "Mother, Ezio's back!"

Ezio stood in front of his mother, taking her hands and gently guiding her up. He hugged her tightly, thinking of his fever dreams. He was surprised to feel that she hugged him back, small arms wrapping around his waist and shoulder. He pulled back slightly, and to his everlasting shock she looked him in the eye.

And she smiled.

"Thank you," she said softly, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Thank you for not forgetting about me." She pulled away a little, gesturing for Claudia to join, and all three of hugged each other, once more a family, once more complete. "Thank you for waiting..."

"They were for quills," Ezio whispered, tears in his eyes as the emotion overcame him. She was back! His mother was _back! _"He was collecting feathers to make quills for you, knowing how much you wrote in your journals."

A tear slid down her cheek, and she smiled again, looking him in the eye, not staring off to space. "That sounds like him," she whispered. "We'll do just that."

That night was a feast: celebrating the return of Ezio Auditore da' Firenze, the patron of Monteriggioni, savior of the city. He regaled everyone with his adventures, giving theatrical accounts of his time in Venice and its smelly canals, exploring the lost tombs and collecting seals which he laid out on the table, mischief in Carnevale, the Battle of Forli, his induction to the Assassin Order, the Apple and its mysterious powers, and his great shame in losing it.

Claudia, in turn, talked about Alfeo's death three years prior, and the new doctor and his decidedly softer hands. Adler the banker had retired, leaving one of his assistants - a young waif of a man named Romeo - in charge. Santino had become a master smith and was currently ogling some find that had come to him from the East, and the tailor Doriano was making quite the name for himself. She talked about his brilliant idea to send thieves to Monteriggioni for hiding, and that now several thieves came for that purpose - after paying a tax on entry, of course, and spent their time practicing their climbing or assessing the security of the city walls. They weren't the only ones either; Annetta had been conscripted by her sister Paola to set up the bordello in the town, and women went there either to hide or to heal, and that the mercenaries now had doubled their numbers with the new barracks.

The next day, before dawn, Ezio took the seals and went down to the Sanctuary under the villa. He placed the seals he had collected in Forli and Venice, bowing to each of them formally as he listened to the chink and pull of ancient mechanisms. Eventually the iron gate was unlocked, and Ezio stepped past it for the first time, looking up at the unhindered view of the statue of Altair, the long coattails, the hidden blade, the hood.

He was such a great man, Altair; rebuilding the Assassin Order virtually from scratch, studying the Apple for years, inventing techniques.

"Do you, too, have a tomb somewhere?" he asked. "Will I ever get to see it?"

He wanted to pay homage, homage to this great man who had - unknowingly - given Ezio everything.

Then he looked down, to the armor that had been locked away. There was little to no decoration, no embellishment - just simple metal plates, sewn together with leather cords. Curious, he picked up one of the greaves, and was shocked to find it as light as leather. The vambraces, even the oddly designed chest plate, were easy to pick up; they held almost no weight. He looked up to the statue again.

"Thank you, Altair," he said, "For this great gift." He reached out, touching the boot of the statue. "May it shield me from my enemies."

He collected the armor, bringing it up to a curious Claudia, and she, too, marveled at the design. Neither of them was certain how to even put it _on_, and it was in examining it that they discovered a rolled piece of parchment with a decorative boarder. Ezio immediately recognized what it was, one single, solitary Codex page.

"What does it say?" Claudia asked.

"I may not know until I send it to Leonardo," Ezio said. "He gave me some of the ciphers, he said sometimes they were repeated. Let me try..." And, after three hours' worth of work, he found the correct cipher and translated the page - what he could of it.

_ "Legends speak of a Golden Fleece. Could the two be related? _

_ "...I have further refined the metallurgic process, allowing for the production of a suit of armor the likes of which the world has never seen... _

_ "...It is possessed of great strength, yet so light as to allow complete freedom... _

_ "...I alternate between wonder and fear. Here we have crafted something that will surely change the face of warfare, making those who wear it nigh invincible... _

_ "Perhaps it was a mistake to create these pieces. I think it best to erase the formulae. What if it were to fall in the hands of our enemies? The risk is too great..."_

"So, then, he was a blacksmith? In his free time I suppose," Claudia theorized, reading through Ezio's sloppy translation. "Like you and painting."

"But how did he create such a work of art?" Ezio wondered, lifting the chest plate, light as leather, and examining the leather cords. "How could he even deduce a formula for this?"

"You would know that better than I," Claudia replied, hefting a vambrace. "You've read that Codex more than anyone."

For the rest of the day they tried to determine how to put it on, navigating the leather cords connecting the various plates. When they solved the puzzle at last, they realized how _simple_ it was, and once Ezio put it on he could tell immediately why it was so awe-inspiring. Each individual plate of metal in his chest guard was layered, and now he understood why, because he could move around completely without anything digging into a side, or pulling against a stretch. All of his most complicated moves could be done without fear of straining a muscle to weight, or pulling apart a seam of the armor. He was immediately out and climbing the façade of the villa, leaping into a nearby haystack, practicing tucks and rolls and twists, and it was as if he were wearing leather armor. That evening they took the armor in and explained the adventures to their mother, who smiled and nodded at all the appropriate moments, before offering a soft smirk and saying,

"Armor like that deserves a proper doublet and hood, don't you think?"

Claudia immediately introduced Ezio to Doriano and his sister Arianna, explaining that they wanted a new outfit to match a new set of armor they had acquired.

"Well," Doriano said, eying Ezio up and down. "I can _certainly_ see why you would want a new outfit. Look at over-extended waistcoat; it flitters out behind you in such an _unfashionable_ manner. And simple grey with red pinstripes? How gauche. You'll be much better served once I'm done with you."

"But..." Ezio started, feeling slightly put out by the vaguely insulting comments. "I _like_ the long coattails. My father wore them..."

"Oh, but you stand out like a-"

"No," Claudia said firmly. "He _never_ stands out when he doesn't want to."

The sister, Arianna looked him up and down. "Your name was Ezio, _messere_? After the eagle?"

"Yes, why?"

But the woman's eyes widened, excitement shuddering through her body. "Yes, yes! An eagle! Tail feathers - that's what those are; no wonder you like them, it suits you so. Yes, we'll make long coattails, no problem there. And the red sash, you hang it so well, yes, strong hips, you could pull it off. What kind of metal is it? We'll need the right colors, many layers, maybe a touch of gold, those new slit sleeves out of Milano, they'll look _great_, and-"

"Arianna, I'm trying to do business," Doriano hissed.

"No, you're about to lose the best customer of the town," Arianna said, already pulling out bolts of fabric. "Black, I think, or a deep charcoal grey, it will makes the whites and the reds stand out. Embroidery, feathers, yes _feathers_..."

Ezio left the shop not quite understanding what had happened, but Claudia assured him that all was as it should be. She proudly explained that Arianna, not Doriano, was the inspiration of the shop - despite the brother's many protests to the contrary. Ezio nodded, remembering the relationship of Rosa and Ugo, and took it in stride.

For the weeks he waited for the new clothes to be made, he spent every day in the training ring against Ulderico. He learned very quickly that his prolonged recovery in Forli had affected his mastery over his body, and he ended up in the dirt more times than he had in the last several years. It was time well spent, and when he wasn't in the ring (and drawing crowds of mercenaries, it seemed), he was racing the thieves to build back up his endurance and retrain his body for climbing. More often than not he was leaving them in his dust, but one or two would give him a good chase. If not racing, he was with the courtesans, asking after Paola and learning what was new in Florence, or San Gimignano, or other places in Tuscany. He was surprised to learn that another Medici bank had failed. What was Lorenzo _doing_ to make so many bad decisions with _money_?

Maria offered the best insight on that particular matter. "Perhaps he cannot split his focus," she said softly over dinner. "He was always one that dedicated himself to one problem at a time, and of late his only concern was his dream."

Ezio was surprisingly troubled after that conversation. He wondered how difficult it was to be a patron and a banker at the same time. He looked out to Monteriggioni, knowing that the people saw him as their patron, but he hardly felt it because of all his time in Venice, and his mission to avenge his family, and his dedication to the assassins. Had he neglected the city? But it was thriving... because of the decisions he made? He didn't feel like it.

The thoughts were quickly shaken off, however, when Doriano and Arianna arrived with the new clothes, and soon Ezio was putting on a black doublet and coattails that were longer than he'd ever seen. Everything was trimmed in gold, and the simple red sash he always wore was now fancier; there were extra layers he had not anticipated, and at first he didn't think it looked particularly great - the starched collars stuck out terribly, and he was more than a little doubtful when he shrugged on Altair's armor.

But then he got a good look at himself in the mirror.

Arianna was right. He looked like an eagle.

The hood, the gold touches looked like feathers, tail feathers represented by his coattails, he looked like a black eagle, ready to swoop down and strike.

He hoped his father would be proud.

... He hoped Altair would approve.

And he smiled, running a hand over his beard and examining himself. Claudia and Maria both were smiling brightly.

He learned by accident that the clothes did more than look good. He won three bouts with Ulderico right in a row - much to Claudia's disappointment, and Ezio knew he wasn't yet in shape to do that yet.

"It's your feet," Ulderico said. "I can't see them."

And Ezio loved his new clothes even more.

He soon visited the blacksmith to show the new armor, and Santino was beside himself as he examined it. Marco and Carlo, too, could not understand how it had been fashioned.

"I thought Venezia always produced utter trash but _this_..."

"No, this isn't Venetian. It's... much older."

Santino begged to understand it, melt it down, but Ezio explained it was the only one of its kind, and that he respected its creator's wish to keep it that way. The master crafter mourned loudly, but eventually moved past it and showed Ezio his latest find. "It's a sword from the east," he said. "I know that you like antiquities, and I'm told it's several hundred years old. I can't speak to that, I'm no expert, but the blade is impressive. If it really is as old as it was claimed, the blade still looks brand new. And, looking at your armor, I think they might be related."

And Santino produced a simple sword, Syrian in design, with the hilt looking like wings and the pommel looking like an eagle head. It was one piece of metal, the grip wrapped in a simple leather cord. It was unremarkable, save for the eagle design that Ezio had seen before. In the Codex. Could this sword...? Ezio took it back to the villa and filtered through his Codex pages to the collections of drawings and diagrams, and he saw several of the instructional pages, and it showed an assassin holding a sword with such a design.

It was true, then. This was an Assassin sword. His next test was to take it out and try it against every blade in the armory he could find. He broke several blades, but the Assassin blade was not even chipped. Marveling, he pulled off the leather guard, and saw Arabic script, a name perhaps, and he hardly dared to think... but the translation was: La-Ahad.

The sword of Altair.

He was holding the sword of...

He marched right back to Santino and said he would buy it, no matter the price.

Mario returned in mid-November, and three days later Claudia went into labor.

Ezio and Ulderico both paced about the halls of the villa, rich with worry, but Mario leaned against Claudia's door and looked utterly unruffled. "When you get to be as old as I am," the fifty-four year old said, "You know that these things will happen exactly as it wants to, and worrying won't help."

Claudia let out a shriek and a vicious curse after that, and Ulderico, _Ulderico_, who had taught Ezio so much, went white as a sheet and fainted there on the spot.

Ezio decided that killing the man wouldn't mean much after that, and after he (with great pleasure) splashed water on him, he lead him to the kitchens and opened up a wine bottle, proceeding to numb the man's pain and his senses. Ezio, too, was more than a little buzzed when Mario arrived to say the baby was born, but he kept steady feet as he helped the staggering Ulderico to meet his daughter.

Claudia was resplendent if exhausted in the bed, Maria and two midwives flanking her, and in her hands was the tiniest creature Ezio had ever seen.

"Federica," she said weakly. "Her name is Federica."

Ezio's eyes watered when he heard it, and he kissed his sister gently on the head as Ulderico held his daughter, swaying dangerously.

It was the first Christmas in Ezio's memory where he felt no compulsion to find a warm bed to chase off nightmares. Instead he would sneak into Claudia and Ulderico's rooms and watch the baby, maybe hold her for a little while, cooing and patting her. More than once Claudia - the early riser of the two - would wake to see Ezio curled into a chair holding his niece, hair askew and baby nuzzling his beard, and she knew why he was there and said nothing, instead wrapping him in an extra blanket and giving him his time.

For the next year he stayed in the villa, marveling over Federica and constantly getting underfoot of Claudia and Maria as they took care of her. Ulderico was still training the mercenaries and keeping them in shape - the job kept him busy; and his evenings were spent singing his daughter to sleep. Ezio caught up on the accounts with Claudia, Federica bouncing between them, and the two made plans for the future.

Behind Altair's statue, Ezio had seen the start of what looked to be a tunnel. After Claudia had examined it and Mario approved it, they hired several miners to extend the tunnel and connect it to the mines beyond the city - an escape route, just in case. They also were finally able to finance a renovation of the irrigation ditches in the outlying farms. Now that the city was making enough income to support themselves, they looked to the farms to try and improve them. Maria and Ezio often rode out to the countryside, the two asking questions of the farmers and what they needed, making lists and prioritizing what they could and couldn't do, and hiring heralds to announce what their plans were.

Mario, as always, was in and out of the villa, traveling all of Italia it seemed sometimes, and always bringing in news when he did. Beyazid II, for example, over in the Ottoman Empire had effectively sold his brother Cem to the Pope. Cem had changed hands throughout Europe for quite some time since Beyazid's ascension to sultan, but now the Ottomans paid the Papacy for his capture a total that, according to Mario, amounted to the entire Papal income.

Also, in April, Caterina Sforza in Forli gave birth to another child, a son. Ezio had panicked slightly at the news before he counted backwards and realized he was not the father. Claudia had scolded him terribly for that reaction, as did Maria, and said if he was so scared of fathering children he shouldn't be bedding women in the first place. Ezio squirmed terribly over that, reluctant in the extreme to give up that particular outlet.

Ezio also painted, working hard to construct the faces of his targets from memory and do them justice.

He also worked on the family portrait, but doing that was painful even after so many years, and it only happened in short spurts.

Everyone celebrated the various milestones of Federica as she came upon them, especially her first steps, when she walked straight up to - not her father Ulderico, but her uncle Ezio, and slapped her hands against his knees.

"It's because you slept with her so often," Ulderico pouted, actually _pouted_. "You've spoiled her."

Letters came in from everywhere, Caterina in Forli, talking about her regency and her relief that it had been granted her; Lorenzo, welcoming him back to Monteriggioni and asking him to visit whenever he could at Villa Careggi; Leonardo from Milan; Mario from whatever city he was in; Antonio and Bartolomeo both from Venice.

Federica's first birthday was cause for great celebration, Claudia and Ulderico were ecstatic, every mercenary not on duty got exceedingly drunk in honor of their captain - and a few on duty. The courtesans all offered up gifts: pillows and ribbons and perfumes, and the thieves staying in the city held a race in the baby's honor. The entire main street was one massive carnival, dances and parades and buffets of food as Claudia and her daughter walked it, Ulderico entirely forgotten, as was Ezio, and Maria could only laugh at Ezio's pout.

"You haven't been here for several years," she said quietly, schooling his jealousy. "You are not the face of their good fortune, Claudia is. Gratitude will always be rewarded, whether it is a visible display, like this, or in an invisible way - like Paola that night. You've had your share of gratitude, Ezio, let Claudia have hers."

And Ezio nodded, the words worming into his brain and mixing with Altair's various ponderings in his Codex, coalescing into something he couldn't yet name.

At the turn of the year, after Claudia's birthday, Ezio braved the rainy weather and traveled to Florence to take Lorenzo up on his offer for a visit, passing through the city and saying hello to Paola - catching up as he could and offering his well wishes to Volpe - before traveling to Villa Careggio and meeting the patron of Florence.

Lorenzo was not the man he knew.

Once young and vibrant, now he was forty-one, his face aged and lined. The quiet sense of purpose and certainty was missing; he looked a man who had lived years of stress.

Something of Ezio's thoughts must have shown on his face, because Lorenzo smiled briefly as he put his hands on Ezio's shoulders in greeting. "Forgive me, my boy," he said softly, "For not looking my best."

Ezio quickly shook his head, bowing in respect. "Forgive me, _Magnifico_, I did not mean to offend."

"You could hardly ever do that, my boy," Lorenzo said, gesturing that they sit. Ezio did so, and noted that Lorenzo looked relieved to be off his feet. "I know how I look. Even Clarice cannot deny that I am like this. _Mi dispace_, Ezio, that you have returned to find me less than what I was. It seems to be a trait of many men, and all my attempts to avoid it had only brought it upon me sooner."

"... What has happened?"

"Perhaps the best way to put it is excess," Lorenzo explained. "I would prefer a different term, but I will have to learn to call a spade a spade eventually. You see, all my ideals, all my plans, all my dreams, cost money. As a banker, I did not think much of this, but now I am learning the hard way that one cannot be done without the other. I have ignored the banking for too long in favor of the dream, and now I must regretfully switch my priorities." Lorenzo gave a great, weary sigh. "I can only hope the people forgive me."

Ezio frowned, slightly. "Forgive you?"

"Oh, Ezio, I forget you have not been here," the patron of Florence said, rubbing his forehead. "Where before, I could perform favors and ask nothing in return, now I am forced to withhold my goodwill until my finances are in better straights. Simple men do not see that; only that I have become miserly with my gifts."

Ezio shrugged his shoulders. "Then tell them."

"And admit that their faith in me was misplaced? No. Perhaps it is selfish of me, but I would rather their scorn than their disappointment. Pride, I suppose." He leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes, and sighed again, gathering strength before beginning again. "I did not call you here to lay my worries at your feet. I've still enough influence for a few favors yet, and for the sake of your father I will use them for you. Is there anything I can do for you, my boy?"

Ezio shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortably aware of what favor he held with Lorenzo, and uncertain if he should feel guilty for the attention when others were suffering for it. Should gratitude only be saved for one person? Or should it be distributed to everyone? He wondered what Altair would think.

"Two things, if it is possible," Ezio said slowly, uncomfortable but unwilling to let an opportunity slip. "The first is perhaps the most important: I am looking for a man. He is a monk or a priest, black robes and a rosary, and he is missing a finger on his left hand. He has... taken something of great value to me and my uncle, and I need to find him."

"Of course, I'll keep an eye out," Lorenzo said, nodding. "I'm looking to bring priests in the city regardless; without me to look to I would feel better if the people had a new shepherd to guide them. Even with my troubles I want Firenze to be safe, even if it is not me who does it."

Ezio nodded slowly, taking in the information. "Also, there are some certain houses in the city that I would like access to; I have reason to believe certain pages like the ones we found in the Pazzi compound those years ago might be there."

"Of course, Ezio. I'll write a note to Poliziano and he can assist you."

"_Grazie_, _Signore_."

"Of course, my boy."

Not long after Leonardo sent a letter from Milan, extolling adventures with a new assistant he had taken in. Ten years old, and Leonardo only called him Salai, a little devil that caused much trouble and had, by Leonardo's admission, ensnared his heart with his charm. Ezio laughed, and wrote back with his own stories about his niece Federica and her ability to explore _anywhere_, even where she was decidedly _not_ safe, and the worry she put Claudia and Ulderico through. Ezio explained happily that the girl took after him.

Mario also brought news that a boy named Cesare had made bishop. Ezio asked why that was important, and he learned that Rodrigo Borgia had an entire entourage of children, and that now that they were growing up they bore watching.

After that Ezio quickly learned there were three sons and a daughter: Giovanni, Cesare, Lucrezia, and Gioffre. Beyond that, however, he knew little, because as children they had not yet done much.

The rest of the year was spent scouring the Tuscan countryside, asking after priests and monks. He learned more about the various orders of theology than he wanted to know, but none of them had heard or seen of a man with a missing finger, or there were many with missing fingers. Some had names, Savonarola came up many times - a man who was studying in Florence but had left years ago to master them - where was anyone's guess, and none had seen him since.

The Codex pages Ezio had acquired in Florence also came back with Leonardo's translations, and Ezio learned a little bit of Altair as a person.

_ "Some days I miss my family... or at least the thought of them. I never knew my parents well, despite them both having lived within these walls. It was our way. Perhaps they were sad, though they showed no sign – it was not allowed. _

_ "For my part, so much of my youth was spent in training, there was little time left to reflect upon the separation. And so when they were finally lost to me, it seemed no different than the passing of two strangers. Al Mualim had been as my father, and his was a weak and dishonest love, though at the time it seemed enough – better, even. Or so I thought. _

_ "Someday I will have a child – such is the way of our Order. And I will not make the same mistake. Nor any who call themselves an Assassin. We shall be allowed to love our children – and, in turn, to be loved. Al Mualim believed such attachments would weaken us – cause us to falter when our lives were on the line. But if we truly fight for what is just, does love not make such sacrifice simpler – knowing that we do so for their gain?"_

He immediately shared the passage with Claudia, and some of the others he had found of Altair talking about his sons, and the two talked for several hours about Federica and what her childhood would look like, dragging Ulderico into the mix when he returned from his duties.

It was after, however, that the captain of the guard and his old teacher took Ezio aside.

"I love you like a brother, Ezio," he said solemnly, "But you are not my wife, nor are you Claudia's husband. You don't have a right to have an opinion on how we raise _our_ daughter, and you should just stay out of it. I don't want my little _piccina_ to think she has two fathers, it would only confuse her."

That had hurt Ezio deeply, and he sought council with his mother soon after.

"You are very close," Maria said, "More so because of what has happened, and because I could not be there for you."

"Mother..."

"It is true, and saying it will not drive me back, Ezio," Maria said. "You have no children of your own, and so all of your attention is on Federica. It is not a bad thing, but you have your own life to live, and Ulderico fears you will supplant that life with your attention on her."

Ezio frowned, uncertain what he was supposed to do. Would Ulderico feel better if Ezio had his own child to focus on? That meant getting married, and Ezio couldn't bring himself to do it; Cristina and what he had done to her hurt too much, and he knew the life he lived wouldn't allow for a long, healthy relationship. He couldn't understand how his father had managed it, except that Giovanni had also been a banker. Maria talked a little of how their life had been - some memories were still hard for her to relive, and Ezio wasn't certain he got the entire picture. She had known of his heritage, that much she could say, and that watching him leave was a source of great anxiety for her. How could Ezio put a woman, a wife, through that? How could he put a child through that? He realized why his father had waited so long to tell his children of their heritage, and he realized not for the first time that he would never marry. It made him feel empty inside, hollow, and he buried himself in his painting; he finished the portrait of Marco Barbarigo in the span of a month, deliberately ignoring Federica's birthday in November and pushing through the painful nights of December. Claudia was furious with him, but he ignored her completely, not wanting to infringe on her life more than he already had.

So, in February, when Antonio sent a letter asking for help, Ezio happily packed his gear, donned Altair's armor and his sword, pulled up his black hood, and rode north to Venice.

He was more than slightly put out when Antonio introduced him to one Luis de Santangel, navigator of some sailor named Christoffa Corombo, and the navigator asked Ezio to be a bodyguard.

"You called me here for _this?_" he asked incredulously.

Antonio smirked. "Afraid it's below your talents?"

"No," Ezio said quickly, raising his hands in placation. "But I'm trying to find the Apple, the monk who took it."

"Ah, but you might like the assignment better when you realize that this Corombo is about to have a meeting with a certain Cardinal-Deacon."

Ezio immediately said yes to the assignment, and soon he was on the roofs of Venice, a rich blue Venetian cape given to him by _Doge_ Agostino when he had, at last, gained his title warding off the archers, and followed the wayward sailor to the meeting with Rodrigo Borgia. After talking with Luis, Ezio learned that Corombo was looking to get to India in the most counterintuitive way possible - he wanted to go west to go east. While Ezio, after reading the Codex and Altair's observations about the world, had grudgingly come to believe that the earth was indeed round, he could not wrap his head around the benefit of going the _long_ way around the earth to get Indian spices and trade. He decided that Corombo was an idiot incarnate, and the fact that he was meeting Borgia for _funding_ only proved the point.

The point was driven home, moreover, when the meeting was a trap and Corombo was almost killed. Ezio swept in from above, saving the idiot and killing the brigands the Spaniard had hired, guiding him to safety. Luis was more than happy with the outcome, thanking Ezio greatly. Corombo left to find more funding, this time from Spain, and Luis pulled Ezio aside to inform him of his dismal prediction.

"Queen Isabella won't fund him," he said. "She's too busy with the Inquisition, killing the Moors and the Jews. Corombo is close to her finance minister, but _he's_ a Jew, and Isabella is too fanatic to listen to either of them. I don't know yet if she's a Templar or not, but she's a butcher regardless, because of that damn Inquisition."

Ezio blinked, stiffening slightly. "... Templar?" he asked slowly.

Luis smiled, faintly. "Did you think Assassins only existed in Italia, Auditore? We're everywhere; and we're being slaughtered in Spain."

That shook Ezio right down to his core, he paced up and down Antonio's _palazzo_ for several days, thinking about other assassins in the world, and what troubles they did or did not have. Did no one monitor everyone's movements? Did no one help each other? He went to Antonio soon after, explaining his concerns. "I know I'm supposed to look for the Apple, but I cannot leave fellow brothers in trouble. I don't want what happened to me to happen to others. I never knew I had allies to turn to, and I can't knowingly do the same to our brothers in Spain."

Antonio nodded, smiling and fingering his chin. "You do the Order proud, brother," he said, giving an aristocratic bow. "Go, I'll take up the search in your stead. Bartolomeo and Teodora will help, too. If nothing else, we'll eliminate the Republic of Venezia from your search."

"Thank you."

And so he wrote Claudia of his thoughts and concerns, his need to help others, and set sail to Spain, Barcelona, specifically. The second largest city in Spain, Barcelona was warmer than the chilly winters of Venice and Monteriggioni, and it was filled with guards who didn't like men in hoods, apparently. Ezio, trying to intercede in a dispute, was quickly labeled a Moor and chased off. Put out in the extreme, Ezio tried to keep a low profile after that, but was uncertain how to contact the Assassins of the city.

In proof, he did not have to worry. Three weeks after his arrival he was approached by a man by the name of Raphael Sanchez.

"I had heard an Italian Assassin was coming, I didn't think it would be the nephew of the Mentor," Sanchez said. Ezio blinked, surprised that his uncle had such a title, but kept his mouth shut for fear of sounding like an idiot who knew nothing (even though he certainly _felt_ it). "I've been hearing things for years about your potential. Let's see if the rumors are true."

From Sanchez, Ezio learned quite a bit about the Spanish monarchy. Isabella was a _devout_ Christian, and loathed the idea of heretics, Christians who claimed to be Christian but practiced Jewish or Islamic traditions. She, and others, was convinced that people were being led away from the "true faith," and the Inquisition began to correct such a grave error. Sanchez, Jewish himself and a finance minister to Isabella, was investigating her ties to the Templars and trying to determine if she was a Templar or a fanatic. A similar investigation was being done on the Inquisitor General, a man by the name of Tomas de Torquem_ada wait didn't we learn about this guy in a glyph so wei_rd.

Their first priority was to save the Assassins, however, Sanchez explained that the entire brotherhood of the city had been systematically accused of heresy and imprisoned, and that similar feats were being done in other Spanish cities. With an army of two, Sanchez was doubtful of what they could accomplish, but Ezio quickly wormed his way into a courtesan house and enlisted their aide, along with bribing a few thieves, and soon created a plan of attack on one of the jailhouses. Sanchez was suitably impressed, and he lead the assault while Ezio worked his way to the upper balconies, finding the man in charge completely alone and confronting him.

"I hope we can speak without interruption, _Signore_. Who gave you the names of the imprisoned Assassins?"

"What do you mean 'Assassins'? Our dungeons are for heretics, not medieval phantoms!"

Ezio shook his head. "No... Your purge was too systematic to be coincidence."

But the man shrugged his shoulders, completely unrepentant. "Whoever those men claim to be, it won't matter after today. A public burning is about to commence for one of them. A willful young man."

Snarling, Ezio said, "If he dies, I will keep that fire burning until this town is a cinder." He killed the man with his hidden blade, twisting with the puncture to ensure the most damage, and raced back to Sanchez and the newly freed Assassins to explain the plight. Several public burnings were happening throughout the city, and together they created a quick and dirty plan to free them all, using the courtesans and thieves again, and creating diversions while the Assassins themselves freed every man and woman and child (Children! Even _children!_) tied to a stake from being roasted alive. The coup drove the city to chaos, and all the Assassins went deep underground to prevent causing further chaos. Sanchez disappeared altogether, going back to Isabella's court to maintain his cover.

He later sent a letter to Ezio, suggesting he go to a city called Zaragoza. Sanchez had discovered - but been unable to obtain - a list of all the assassins in the city to be captured and executed. Furious that the systematic destruction of the Order was still ongoing, Sanchez demanded Ezio learn as much as he could. Ezio heartily agreed, disturbed more and more that the Templars had managed to create such an atrocity and mask it so completely in another atrocity. He wanted to find someone who knew about the Templars, wanted to find out _how_ this subterfuge and backroom dealings had occurred. His mind was heavy with these thoughts during the two-week trek to Zaragoza.

The Moorish city was resplendent, as Barcelona was, but the mood of the people contrasted sharply, they were dismal, fearful, and helpless. Ezio quickly looked up the man Sanchez had named as the Inquisitor in charge of the city, and Ezio spent almost a month assessing the man's stronghold before he was confident enough to sneak in. By then he had freed a small handful of Assassins, and had taught them how to use other guilds to build their strength. Satisfied that things were starting to play in his favor, Ezio snuck into the man's stronghold, working his way around guards and sticking to roofs and support beams and crossbeams.

Inside, he was surprised to find a meeting with the man and Torquemada himself. Torquemada was explaining why the list of names were so specific, and why there had been no accusations to nominate them for capture - the list came from Rodrigo Borgia himself, Cardinal-Deacon to the Pope, and most venerable and reliable source of information when it came to heretics. Ezio was sickened to hear it, and bothered that the Spaniard knew the inner workings of the Order so thoroughly as to know specific names of men in Spain. Did he have spies? Was there a traitor in the Spanish Order? Ezio was not certain, and was enraged when he saw an Assassin slaughtered in front of his eyes. He mourned the death, angry at himself that he could do nothing to blow his cover, could do nothing until one of those men was alone. He wanted Torquemada the most, connected as he was to the Borgia, but _he_ was of course the one to leave first, and Ezio assassinated the man Sanchez had assigned him. He was another man ignorant of the Templars, and Ezio cursed that Borgia was so clever.

He sent a letter to Sanchez after that, explaining everything he had learned. He spent the entire summer traveling from city to city, freeing Assassins accused of heresy and assassinating the Inquisitors in charge of the city, learning over and over that they knew nothing of the Templars, and that they truly believed in their fanatic belief that the mass executions, burning at the stakes, were for the greater good. Ezio was sickened by the blind faith, and remembered Altair's words on it.

_ "I have studied the ancient pagan faiths that came before this more recent obsession with a single, divine creator. They seem to have focused more on the fundamental forces at play in the world around us and less on arbitrary moral rules... _

_ "The sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening. The tides ebb and flow. Grass grows, withers, dies, and then in time, emerges from the ground once more. The air turns warm then cools and back again. Some hidden energy keeps us fitted to the ground and pulls us back when we attempt to leave it. _

_ "Each of these movements was represented before by a god or goddess. Each force given face, but recognized as something distinct and powerful. Which is not to say there were not connections between these forces – a pantheon of individual spirits – of rules. Invisible hands guiding the progress of the world around us. _

_ "And so here there was an attempt to categorize, study, explain, and understand the way things work – even if it was flawed. But no more. Now we are asked to succumb to a far more simplified explanation. How naive to believe there might be a single answer to every question. Every mystery. That there exists a lone divine light which rules over all. They say it is a light that brings truth and love. I say it is a light that blinds us – and forces us to stumble about in ignorance. _

_ "I long for the day when men turn away from invisible monsters and once more embrace a more rational view of the world. But these new religions are so convenient – and promise such terrible punishment should one reject them – I worry that fear shall keep us stuck to what is surely the greatest lie ever told."_

Ezio, frankly, was forced to agree. Raised a Christian, he could no longer ascribe to their notions, not if it created men like Torquemada or endorsed people like Borgia. Though Ezio believed in the Christ's message of peace and forgiveness, of helping the poor and the needy, he failed to see where these teaching existed in the modern church. Teodora's bordello did more to heal people and practice Christian traditions than anything he was witnessing in Spain. Whatever he thought of God, the Creator, he agreed with Altair on this: people needed to be educated, and Christian faith seemed more and more to advocate the opposite point of view.

It was almost the end of the year when Sanchez was able to break free of Isabella's court and meet up with Ezio in his latest city with news. Tomas de Torquemada had joined with Isabella in the war against the kingdom of Granada. He had also learned that the king, Muhammad XII, was captured in the city's fortress, Alhambra. Imprisoned as he was, he could not surrender, and doing so prevented the end of the war, and doing so drained the accounts of Isabella, and doing so prevented Corombo from setting sail. Ezio was confounded that the idiot from Venice had popped up again. _Why_ was Borgia so hell-bent on preventing this guy from his counterintuitive sailing? Let the man sail; let him prove himself an idiot, if that's what he wanted. It was that kind of freedom the Assassin's encouraged - let a man learn from his own mistakes.

Sighing, the pair set off for the war torn city-state. For the next four months the two worked to execute the city commanders, freeing the citizens and helping to gain access to the fortress Alhambra. Eventually the two were able to sneak in and free Muhammad, and Ezio was quick to explain what all this was for.

"What madness is this?" the king demanded. "I'm to abdicate, surrender, so some idiot can receive funding to sail off the edge of the world?"

Ezio privately agreed with him, but Sanchez was much more pragmatic. "It's not about some sailor," he explained. "It's about the fact that Spain is now in the hands of fanatics. We're good, _Signor_, but we're not _that_ good. We can't stop this juggernaut now that it's begun; the best we can hope for is to minimize the damages. _Life_ is more important at this point than land, and _peace_ is more important that pride."

Muhammad was furious, but in the end he saw sense, and on January second, Claudia's birthday, the last Muslim governed city surrendered to the Spanish crown.

That did not mean Ezio's work was finished, however. During their work in Granada, Ezio learned whom it was that had ordered the capture of all the Assassins in Barcelona in the beginning of the year. The Italian Assassin killed him, and two weeks later word spread of the Alhambra Decree.

Isabella and Ferdinand gave the Jews and the Moors three months to do one of three things: convert to Christianity, leave Spain wholesale, or die. That gave him until June to find Torquemada and ascertain once and for all if he was a Templar.

During his search, Sanchez also brought other news - far more personal to the Florentine: Lorenzo de' Medici had died. The news was a blow to Ezio, and he explained to Sanchez how Lorenzo was the patron of Florence, a man of great influence and benevolence, and how his focus had been so narrowly driven to the people he had neglected his other duties. He mourned the loss, and hoped that Lorenzo's successor would fill his large shoes.

By the end of May, Ezio had at last located Torquemada, and snuck into the man's palace to confront and kill him. Torquemada, as everyone else in Spain it seemed, was not a Templar but a fanatic, and after the many deaths of his Inquisitors had been prepared for Ezio's assault, managing to escape, much to Ezio great frustration and shame.

Sanchez consoled him, as did Luis de Santangel, who had come to report to Sanchez that Corombo had the finances - if he and Sanchez covered half the expenses - and they would set sail in August. Both Spanish Assassins told Ezio there was nothing more he could do, and that he had done more than his due, and that he would always have allies in Spain.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** A complaint on AC3: _Why are the lumberers so hard to scan?_ Seriously, filling out the encyclopedia of the common man is such a PAIN because Terry and Godfrey spend more time freakin' FISHING than they do actual lumbering! We've been hanging around them for DAYS! Norris is just as bad, he never pans for gold! Grr! Er, well, besides that we've been spending our lovely holiday week replaying AC3 and of course enjoying ourselves immensely (Lumberers aside...). Congratulations to everyone on surviving the end of the world, and hopefully everyone had a happy holiday - which ever one we celebrated. Now, about this chapters:

Oh, look, we just put in another Another AC game - one we haven't played and know nothing about, we'd like to note. Our beta says it all came out fine, but it's the reviewers to get the final say. Suffice to say it was a pain to write.

A lot of little threads were touched on in this - and will continue to do so a we cover the Ten Year Gap. Claudia's plate is spun the most - we have a lot of territory to cover with her not only in terms of her life but especially her relationship with Ezio. We have Brotherhood to think about,and Claudia is Ezio's closest relative regardless in the course of his life. Mario and Lorenzo are touched on; Lorenzo's story finally ends and now we have the legacy to deal with, and we start to see what Ezio thinks of how the Order is run. So many plates to spiiiiiiin... This is why we hate the Ten Year Gap. Meh.

Still. Next chapter: a certain man becomes Pope, and the French invade Italy. Good stuff.


	24. Bonfire of the Vanities

**Part Twenty-Four: Bonfire of the Vanities**

Ezio returned to Italia in July, just in time to hear that Bayezid II of the Ottoman Empire offered to take the Spanish exiles, and ordered his people to accept them and become citizens. Admiral Kemal Reis was sent to collect the abandoned peoples. Ah, Ezio thought, at least one thing could go right. He wondered if there were Assassins in Constantinople, and if they had a hand in it.

As luck would have it, Mario was at the villa when Ezio returned home, and he immediately asked about the term Mentor.

"Ah, that," Mario said. "The grandmaster of the Order had always been called that, the Mentor, the Teacher, the Scholar. I don't know where it started, but it was decided that calling a leader a Master was in poor taste, given that we strive for freedom of any master. The grandmaster of the Order doesn't give commands, per se, so much as guidance and suggestions."

"And what did you 'suggest' when the Inquisition started in Spain?"

"What I could. What you don't realize, Ezio, is just how much work comes with being the Mentor. We have branches all over the known world, each with its own politics, leaders, despots, Templars, and evildoers to manage. Look at Italia. I don't think I've been home more than six months for as long as I can remember; I've been everywhere, from Napoli to Roma to Venezia to the Germanies to... I've lost track the places I've been. Doing that, _and_ managing the Order, well, sometimes tough decisions have to be made."

Ezio frowned for a long time after that, wondering if things could somehow be done differently.

He did not have much time to fret, however, because Pope Innocent VII died, and the papal conclave was called to announce the next Pope. Mario dragged Ezio to Roma, and they waited tensely to see who would be named.

"Now we'll see who'll buy the papacy."

"_Buy_, Uncle?"

"_Si._ Don't tell me you honestly thought the next Pope was decided by a fair electoral college? That's a fairy tale; the papacy goes to whoever can bribe the most cardinals. The church is about as far from her doctrines that an organization can get, and things have only gone downhill with Borgia as the Pope's assistant for these last few terms. We can only hope one of those rich _bastardi_ is actually benevolent, della Rovere has potential, but it would be a miracle, regardless."

And, to their horror, Alexander VI was named.

Rodrigo Borgia.

The city was in an uproar, Cardinal della Rovere, whom Mario had mentioned, was outraged, accusing Borgia of simony. Rumors flew that Borgia bought the seat with four mules of silver plus other extravagances, della Rovere quickly fled to France, and Borgia was quick to offer his support of the Spanish Inquisition and electing four more assistant Inquisitors for Tomas de Torquemada.

Ezio was _furious_. Now the grandmaster of the Templar Order was the head of the _Church_, the most holy position one could attain. He wanted to kill that _bastard_ at his coronation, but Mario, calmer and more sensible, pulled him away. "Killing a Pope so soon after his election would not help in the slightest - even if it removes Borgia from the equation, we don't know his other supporters and it's better, as they say, to fight the devil you know rather than the one you don't."

That did not make Ezio feel better _at all_, however, and as soon as the two arrived in Monteriggioni Ezio isolated himself in his loft, painting to work out the frustration he was feeling. Mario tried but could not assuage him, and Claudia didn't even call on him. It was Maria who made the situation clear, months later in March.

"Do you have the Apple, Ezio?"

"What?"

"Do you have the Apple?"

"... No."

"Then you cannot confront the Spaniard yet," she said. "The Codex prophecy tells of two Pieces of Eden, does it not? I think it safe to assume the Spaniard has one, and you will not be on even footing until you, too, do as well."

The clarity struck Ezio like a bolt of lightning, and Ezio hugged his mother, thanking her profusely before redoubling his effort searching for the nine-fingered monk. He spent most of the year in the saddle, traveling in a wider and wider spiral, asking after monks with missing fingers. He even traveled as far as Naples, and witnessed the marriage of Borgia's son Gioffre - thirteen years old, with the king's granddaughter, Sancha, fifteen. By that point he was greatly disconnected with the goings on of central Italy, and he rode north to see what had happened to make Borgia ally with Naples in such a way.

He discovered that Gioffre Borgia was not the only child to be married off. The daughter Lucrezia was also married, to Caterina's cousin Giovanni Sforza. The wedding, Mario and Volpe said, was downright scandalous - an orgy of public debauchery and extravagance. Lucrezia was sixteen. Not only that, but Borgia had added an unprecedented twelve cardinals to the Sacred College of Cardinals - one conveniently being his son, eighteen year old Cesare Borgia. The amount of influence he had as a result was staggering.

Also, Corombo's idiotic voyage had paid off, he returned with news of a new world discovered, the extra landmasses that Altair talked of in his Codex now for all Europe to see. Borgia, as Pope, gladly approved of the issue of slavery - superficially to convert more Christians, but the Auditore all knew better. It was a means of control - of entire continents of people - and Mario solemnly predicted that the Spaniards decision would wreck havoc for centuries to come.

The year closed with rumors running rampant with Borgia's children. Both sons - Cesare and Giovanni, supposedly were sleeping with their little brother Gioffre's wife Sancha, Lucrezia was bedding the servants on the Sforza property, debauchery of all kinds were happening; all while Borgia gave them more and more power. When 1494 dawned, and Monteriggioni prepared for Claudia's birthday, and five-year-old Federica begged Uncle Ezio for "pick up!", Ezio stared out his loft window and wondered what _else_ could happen before he could manage to find the Apple.

Shortly after the year started, word reached Mario and Ezio that Ferdinand the First, King of Naples, had at last, died on January 25. There were a lot of politics that Ezio didn't quite follow, but France had apparently been whispered at to get geared up to take over Naples and the French King, Charles, decided that it sounded like a good idea.

This meant war was looming on the horizon. And not the type where mercenaries fought each other on behalf of a city and the citizens remained safe. No, Ezio just sensed that this wouldn't be so polite a war.

So Ezio rode to Florence and Mario to Rome to see what they could do.

Florence had seen some upheaval while Ezio was in Spain. The death of Lorenzo had shaken many of the city, and of Lorenzo's several sons and nephews, there was some argument on who would become the next to take charge of the city. Piero, Lorenzo's oldest son at twenty, assumed control and exiled much of his extended family to stop the debate. This was saddening, but Ezio met up with Machiavelli and, together, the two visited Piero de' Medici to guide him through the approach of Charles. The meeting was frustrating and disappointing.

Florence, as a whole, didn't particularly care for the Spaniard as the Pope. Not in the slightest. But they weren't about to just let France run roughshod over them on their way down to take Naples. They wanted to, at worst, stay out of it, and at best, get some plunder from the Borgia.

The French, however, didn't seem to agree with this idea. The French method wasn't just to march down to Naples and deal with their issues there. That would make too much sense. Instead, each city or town that opposed them was crushed and massacred. Tiny towns that wanted to be left alone were robbed and brutalized to get resources of food and plunder any treasures, gold, or antiquities. They had somehow found a way to drag canons along and fire them on cities, destroying buildings that were hundreds of years old and killing hundreds. Even Caterina in Forli, who initially sided with the Papacy with grit teeth, allowed the French to move through to avoid getting trounced.

So when the French arrived in Florence, the Florentines were quite happy to push the French past and get them out of their Republic. Savonarola and his priests, the populace at large, Piero, Ezio, Machiavelli, they were all in agreement that France had no issues with Florence and to keep it that way.

"Your father worked very hard for the peace we have here," Ezio said to the young Piero. "We must negotiate with the French to let them go by without giving them our bounty."

"I agree," Machiavelli said, his harsh face staring out the window of the Palazzo de' Medici to the bustling crowds below. "I suggest a diplomat, bargaining something so that the French can leave us be. Let them bother our dear Pope instead."

And Piero agreed.

At first, things seemed hopeful but that lasted for barely a moment. Piero and his forces faced the French, but were completely overwhelmed and brutally demolished. With no support from Florentine nobles, who wanted the French to pass through but didn't understand the horror that the French left in their wake, Piero was disheartened and simply gave up soon after.

Ezio watched Piero as he received and sent missives. Piero, simply stated, was not made of the same metal as his father and great-grandfather. The more time Ezio spent with the young man, the more he realized that Piero was scared. Terrified, though he hid it well with thick arrogance. Fifteen years prior, when some remnants of the Pazzi had gathered enough to storm the _palazzo_ and Lorenzo had held the family in the Medici Chapel until Ezio's well timed arrival saved them all, had damaged the child. Now grown, as Ezio watched Piero, he realized that Piero was petrified of any sort of conflict.

"I had my safety ripped away once," Piero said quietly over dinner. "I never wish to go through that again. Florence will not face such polarization again."

And Florence didn't, because Florence became united in its hatred of Piero the Sorrowful, since he ended up capitulating to _every single one_ of France's demands, allowing France to invade Tuscany and plunder the city without any resistance.

Machiavelli was disgusted, throwing up his hands in frustration when he and Ezio realized this.

Ezio, having known Lorenzo and cared for _Il Magnifico_, watched as Florence turned on their patron and exile him, looting the Medici's _palazzo_, and threw hatred and curses at the Medici name that had so benefited them for three generations. The least Ezio could do for the family was to help Piero, his brother Giovanni, escape Florence and send them on their way to safety. The Medici exiled by Piero were to be welcomed back, once word reached them, but they would not hold power over the city again, not the way Lorenzo had.

Machiavelli stayed in Florence, trying to do what he could to reestablish order, especially since one of the monks, Savonarola, quickly became an important part of the council that now ran the Republic of Florence. Many didn't care for Savonarola's power, including Milan, the Sforza in general, and rumor had it that even the Spaniard denounced him, so Ezio could only assume that he was good for the city if Borgia didn't like him as he left and started to follow the French army.

Their march south was bloody, and when Ezio scouted outlying towns, further away from the French, everyone he met expressed shock.

Wars in Italy, they didn't go this way. Nobles and councils would hire mercenaries and they would fight the battles for the cities. The citizens rarely were involved. The French didn't. They just marched through, beat opponents, and then took whatever spoils they deemed necessary, and left troops behind to maintain the lines of communications back with France itself.

It was horrifying. None in Italy could believe such cruelty existed.

The Papal armies failed as the French marched through the Papal States. Cardinal della Rovere, traveling with Charles and apparently one of the instigators of the war, tried to use the French as leverage to have the Spaniard step down, but apparently Rodrigo was doing his backdoor dealings once again, bribing a French confidant with a cardinal hat, making France ignore Rome and keep marching south to Naples.

It wasn't until February the following year, 1495, that the French finally arrived in Naples and took it over without a single fight, though Cem, the Ottoman brother being held prisoner by the Papacy, mysteriously died there.

Needless to say, after the horrifying march south Italy didn't care for what France had done. So several city-states joined together with the Spaniard to form the Holy League (though most Italians called it the League of Venice) the following month, all of them vowing to fight the French on their way back through Italy.

As the League of Venice started to attack the garrisons the French had left behind to maintain communication, Charles was forced to leave Naples and finally start returning home, along with all the booty he'd collected. In the beginning of July, at the small town of Fornovo, a major battle between the French army and the League's main body occurred. It was bloody, chaotic, and disorganized. The French troops were, by far, better disciplined, but several of the Italian forces had been promised some of the various treasures that the French were carrying with them, which inspired gold-eyed high morale.

In the end, it was hard to say who the victor was. The League lost the most men, by far, but the French had lost all the bounty they were in Italy for. And as the French continued north home, they were still fought at every turn. Ezio stood over the bloody battlefield, looked at the sea of bodies, and wondered if Naples was really worth it. If _anything_ was really worth this much death.

It wasn't until the French were finally out of Italy that some of the full ramifications were felt.

Rodrigo had used the League to reduce much of the power of the various city-states in Italy, giving himself and his family even more power as a despot. Cardinals or dukes who were in his way were starting to wind up dead, either in the Tibre or elsewhere as more and more of Italy was consolidated into the Pope's hands.

Savonarola, back in Florence, was declaiming him, and supposedly the Spaniard laughed when he heard of it.

There was also a new disease sweeping through the country, called the French disease. The French dragged syphilis, which had started its outbreak in Naples, throughout the country, and Italy suffered for it.

Forli had its own issues, far more domestic than the French. Caterina's own children had hatched a conspiracy to kill their step-father, apparently not caring for him in the slightest and wanting to ensure that her oldest son Ottaviano was the only successor. Caterina, still enamored by her husband, learned of it and unleashed cruel vengeance and executions of the most painful kind. Rumor had it that her people had forever lost her goodwill, since she was apparently blind to see the political motivations that both her children and the people wanted.

The following year continued to see things getting worse. With Borgia having more power than ever, people were starting to gather arms against him. Bartolomeo joined the Orsini family with his men to fight off the Pope from taking Orsini territory. While Bartolomeo's forces were dwindled and chipped down to three forces, the _conditierro_ held out until Carlo Orsini finally joined him and together, they defeated one Cesare Borgia's troops, supposedly even wounding Cesare in the face.

More and more people were falling ill and Borgia continued to consolidate his power. Italy, it seemed, was in for some very dark days.

Ezio and Mario made it back to Monteriggioni physically and mentally exhausted. After almost two years in the saddle and never staying in the same place for more than a few days, Ezio had a far greater appreciation for Mario having to make difficult decisions for the Order. After all, Mario could hardly ever be _found_. Ezio was looking forward to even the simplicity of catching up on all the letters he'd missed out on after so long traveling all across Italy.

It was late November when they finally rode into the city, having just missed Federica's birthday. The town, unsurprisingly, welcomed them grandly. Ezio was as gracious as he could be, but honestly, he just wanted to crawl into bed for a week or so. He didn't know where Mario had the strength to keep laughing and energetically bounding around.

No sooner had he entered the villa when, "_Zio Ezio!_" echoed around the great hall and a tiny eight-year-old arrow came flying down the stairs in boy's trousers and running up to his arms.

Despite himself, Ezio couldn't help but laugh as he caught her and lifted her up in a twirl. "Federica!" he greeted, before bringing her down into a crushing hug.

Okay, maybe bed could wait.

Federica happily started babbling all sorts of stories and adventures that had been going on, the trees she'd climbed, the epic fights with the mean French she'd conquered, beating her father in the ring, and showering Maria with any feathers she could find. Ezio laughed and pelted questions at her, which her quick mind could follow and clarify on.

Claudia came out of the study smiling briefly before scolding Federica about indoor-voices. Ezio offered his sister a smile, but she didn't return it, instead pulling Federica from him and telling her to go get cleaned up for a proper dinner.

"_Mother_!" Federica whined. "I don't _want_ to wear a dress!"

"You'll wear a dress and learn that there are times when dresses are better than trousers," Claudia countered firmly. "Go see your grandmother, she'll get you sorted."

"But _Zio _Ezio doesn't care what I wear! Do you _Zio_?" she turned large soulful eyes to him.

Ezio could only chuckle. "Federica, you need to learn that there is a time and place for everything. Listen to your mother."

The child pouted horribly and squirmed out of Claudia's arms to go stomping back up the stairs and find Maria.

"She always listens to you," Claudia said.

Ezio shrugged. "She worships the ground I walk on, though I don't know what I've done to deserve that."

Claudia frowned at him. "Because you do all sorts of things normal people wouldn't; like climbing buildings, leaping alleys, and your stories of adventures fire her imagination," she stated flatly. Then she smiled. "I'll look forward to your stories of the past year or so tonight with dinner."

Ezio shook his head. "There are no good stories for tonight," he said wearily. "The fallout from the war has been... hard. Terrible. Shocking. There isn't really a word."

Claudia sighed and hugged him. "I know. I've been reading your letters. You'd best settle in for now, I need to settle the accounts. The damn architect we hired for an irrigation ditch to some of the northern fields has turned out to be an idiot."

Ezio chuckled. "Don't worry, _piccina_, I'm sure you'll sort everything out like you always do."

She hmphed as she headed back to the study. "Maybe the three of us can go on a picnic tomorrow while Ulderico is touring the fortifications."

The mention of Ulderico reminded Ezio that he wasn't supposed to be a father figure for Federica, and so he shook his head. "While I love the idea, we still haven't found the monk who stole the Apple. I want to look through the letters you've no doubt been stockpiling for me and see if anyone had found anything."

There was no denying Claudia's severe frown at that, but she just turned up her nose and headed back to her accounts.

With a heavy sigh, Ezio went up to his loft to unpack his materials.

Christmas, as always, was a quiet affair for the Auditore house. While not as solemn with Federica running around and livening up the villa, Ezio couldn't quite shake his mood and attempted to focus on his painting, particularly the one of his family. But with two decades since watching the swinging gallows, Ezio was disheartened to find he didn't remember the details of his father's or brothers' faces. Did Giovanni have a wrinkle there? Was Petruccio's hair really that dark? Was Federico's nose that chiseled? Claudia, Maria, himself, and even the small Federica he was adding, were all easy to paint, he could study their faces every day. But the deceased half of his family...

With a sigh, Ezio sought out Mario to see if any progress had been made. Ezio's contacts had thus far come up empty. Antonio had even stated that there was no chance that the Apple was in Venice given how thoroughly he, Teodora, even Agostino Barbarigo had searched the city, canals, and outlying provinces.

"I'm sorry, Ezio," Mario said in the library. "There's been no sign or word of the Apple. I'll be heading back to Roma in a few days to try looking up leads there. Perhaps the Spaniard knows; if I can find a way to listen in."

"It's been years, Uncle," Ezio sighed. "Almost a decade. It may not even be in Italia. Maybe the French took it back with them."

"Let's not get disheartened yet," Mario smiled. "Italia has many nooks and crannies to hide things. We'll find it yet. You were prophesied to have it, so you will get it when you need it."

Ezio rolled his eyes, still not really placing much trust in _prophecies_.

Mario only laughed.

January came and they all celebrated Claudia's birthday with fervor, the festivities being Ezio's cue to leave his depression behind. He still tried to stay apart from Claudia's family, as Ulderico had asked, but it was starting to put a strain on his relationship with Claudia. She would come to him, as she always did, with worries or concerns, and Ezio found himself questioning whether or not it was a good idea to offer any advice, leaving him to be more distant. Claudia didn't understand the retreat and called him on it, but Ezio could offer no answer when the feelings he had were such a tangled ball of confusion.

Maria finally pulled Ezio aside.

"Ulderico asked that you not steal his daughter from him and be her father," she said firmly. "He didn't say to keep your distance from Claudia."

"But Mother," Ezio replied, "How can I do one but not the other? Federica, given both myself and Ulderico in the same room, will always rush up to me, seek me out. I don't blame him for wanting to make sure she understands that _he's_ her father."

"Oh, my darling boy," Maria said fondly, holding him tight in a hug. "You are a favored uncle. Federica _understands_ that Ulderico is her father, but she goes to whatever she finds interesting, and that's _you_. Ulderico and Claudia both are her parents, and they will discipline her if she does something wrong. You provide stories and fun, of _course_ she'll seek you out."

Ezio sighed. Again. "He asked me to keep my distance."

"And you've made _too much_ distance," Maria insisted. "Ulderico feels very guilty about how much Claudia is hurting over you staying away. But he can't bring himself to say anything because he knows Claudia's temper. The three of you must clear the air between you."

The Assassin couldn't help but laugh. "After all the dangers I've faced, I must say that I don't relish the idea of Claudia being so angry at me."

Maria only raised a delicate eyebrow. "She has the right. You both decided this without any of her input."

"_Ser_ Ezio!" a courier came rushing in, panting. "_Ser_ Ezio!"

"Elario," Ezio pulled away from his mother, "calm down!"

"_Ser_ Ezio!" Elario continued to pant. "Word from _Signor_ Machiavelli in Firenze! They've found it! I was told to tell you as soon as I reached Monteriggioni! They've _found_ it!"

Ezio turned to Maria. "I must go."

Maria gave a warm, motherly smile that Ezio had missed for so many years. "Go on, my son. Maybe when you get back I can make all of you see reason."

Ezio chuckled and kissed her. "If anyone can, it's you."

Ezio sent Elario to Rome to repeat the message to Mario and he packed his things and got ready to ride to Florence. He'd likely need to stay in the city, so he said his goodbyes to Claudia and Federica and Ulderico and rode off.

Arriving just past dusk, Ezio was surprised to see guards at the gates glaring so cruelly out to the road. Stabling his horse, Ezio watched for an hour, as traffic slowly lessened and the guards kept a tight reign on anything and everything.

Machiavelli's letter had stated that Savonarola had the Apple and was currently dominating the city. If the nervous people he was seeing were any indication, the young man may have been right.

Glancing at his armor, Ezio shifted around the stables until he found a thick black blanket that he wrapped over himself like a cloak. Between that and his black hood, he looked like a priest in the dim light, so he stepped lightly, hunched his shoulders in prayer, and ambled over to a small crowd of monks tiredly heading into the city.

The guards let them pass without a word and once in the walls, Ezio shed the blanket in an alley and headed deeper into the city. For now, he'd spend the night at a tavern and find Machiavelli the following day.

The tavern he'd selected to stay in was, to his memory, always busy, some group of men visiting or a collection of families passing through, always with good food and wine and friendly faces willing to share stories.

This was no longer so. The San Marco district, which had been expanding rapidly as Ezio grew up, still bore the signs of construction, but was quiet as night continued to settle. The tavern was almost empty when Ezio arrived and asked for a room and a meal.

This... wasn't the Florence he grew up in. It wasn't even the Florence he'd left a few years prior. He'd thought that if the Spaniard didn't care for Savonarola, he'd be good for the city. Clearly, Ezio was wrong.

Dreadfully wrong.

The following morning, he had a very fast breakfast and left with his bags, hoping to stay with the Assassins for the duration of his stay. He was set to meet Machiavelli at the Oltrarno Bridge later in the afternoon, so Ezio decided his time was best spent wandering the city, re-familiarizing himself with it, and just listening to the people to gauge what had changed in the years he'd been gone.

"If Piero had only a tenth of his father's talent, we'd still have some place to call home..." one citizen grumbled, rushing down the street and almost dragging his wife behind him. "Come on, before anyone notices you're wearing cosmetics."

Ezio narrowed his eyes at that, wondering what cosmetics had to do with anything. Indeed, many citizens were wearing shabbier clothing that one would expect in such a wealthy city. Those that _were_ wearing nicer clothes were hurrying about while several would look at them with disdain.

Walking into the San Giovanni district, Ezio learned more, that Savonarola was preaching almost constantly, talking of hellfire and damnation with the coming century mark and how it would be the end of the world, how such vanities had pulled people away from God, so repent! Repent!

"...Never should have welcomed that mad monk into the city. Look at all the misery he's wrought..."

People were indeed miserable, rushing from one appointment to the next not because of being late, but fear. The whole city seemed to reek of fear, and that was something Ezio couldn't stand for in his beloved home.

One noble, strolling down the street with another, voiced what Ezio was thinking.

"...Don't understand why'd they'd be so willing to accept his oppression..."

Ezio couldn't understand it. He knew he'd been raised as a noble and that it had allowed him many privileges that the average person didn't have, but he'd lost everything when his father and brothers had died. Monteriggioni had had nothing when they'd arrived. He wandered the countryside with only himself to rely on for money or food for well over a year. He knew how the average person could struggle to get by. But just because one struggled didn't mean that one should just take oppression. Why did Florence put up with this?

Passing the Duomo, a monk was shouting in frustrated anger, "He just threw us out! Said all we owned belonged to the Church of San Marco now. We've worked _hard_ for those items and donations, and now they're no longer _ours_?"

Ezio continued to walk, stopping at a small stand to buy some bread and a different stand for some cheese to have as his lunch and entered the Santa Maria Novella district.

Everywhere he went in the city, every street, every boulevard, had fires where preachers of Savonarola's were spouting their doomsday nonsense, making people throw paintings, books, cosmetics, even _mirrors_, into the fires to curse the vanities that had ensnared the population.

Ezio just couldn't understand it.

The worst part of wandering the city was the bodies. Citizens cut down for some reason or another and just left there to rot in the streets. A fleeting worry for Cristina passed through Ezio's mind, but he pushed it aside. She didn't want to see him so he would respect her wishes.

Walking over another corpse, he could only hope that Manfredo could protect her properly.

Seeing some guards eying him suspiciously, Ezio joined a small circle of citizens, all talking about the misery of the city and wondering when things would just go back to normal.

One young man pulled off his feathered cap and rubbed his head. "Sometimes I wish the Assassin would return to Firenze, that we might be free of this tyranny."

Another scoffed. "He's just a myth, a tale told by parents to their children."

The young man protested, "No, my father had seen him in San Gimignano, years ago! Helped him go after some fat Bernardo something or other who had been party to the Pazzi families attack on _Il Magnifico_."

"Sure, if you say so," another said.

Ezio frowned. He'd worked to keep his kills and missions discreet; though there were times he'd had no choice but to fight in the open. Had he really garnered such a reputation? Did all of Firenze know of him now?

"It seems I've been away from Firenze for too long," he said, entering the conversation. "I remember a young man that others called an Assassin. Has he done something so memorable?"

The young men all smiled, eager to share the stories they'd grown up on, of a fallen noble on a bloody quest to avenge his family and protect Florence. Really, Ezio wondered, they'd turned him into some sort of hero.

"Too bad we haven't heard much of him in the past couple of years."

"Wasn't he here when _Il Magnifico_ died?"

"No, it was when the French were coming."

"No, no, he hasn't been here since he saved _Il Magnifico._"

Ezio shrugged. "I'd heard he needed to flee Firenze and that he was forced to Venezia."

"That hellhole?"

"What sort of city have we become that we take a local hero and force him to that that swine-hole of a floating city?"

Ezio chuckled with them, but learned little more on what the average Florentine might think of his reappearance.

The afternoon was waning and Ezio started south to the Arno and then backtracked east to the Oltrarno Bridge.

Machiavelli was standing near the rail, glaring down to the water with his harsh face. "Hello, Ezio," he greeted. "You picked a fine time for a homecoming."

"Then it's true?" he replied sadly. "Savonarola has taken control of Firenze?"

"Yes," the younger Assassin nodded. "No doubt aided by that treacherous artifact."

"We should get to work on retrieving it."

"That may be more complicated than you think," Machiavelli shook his head.

"Hah!" Ezio laughed and smiled. "When isn't it? Why don't you fill me in on things?"

Machiavelli only nodded. "Walk with me."

They headed south to the Oltrarno district, where small fires were set up and people were throwing all sorts of things into it, as Ezio had seen all over Florence. The preachers shouted defilements of sodomy, the Borgia, the excess that everyone lived with and asked for more to be set aflame.

"It all started a few weeks ago," Machiavelli started, "The man everyone once reviled was suddenly the one they worshiped."

That made perfect sense. Oh, wait... "Ah, the Apple?"

The harsh-faced man shook his head. "Only in part. It's not the city he's enthralled, but its leaders: men possessed of influence and power," Ezio could see where this was going. _Had_ seen where this had gone in Venice when the Barbarigo were in power. "They, in turn, oppress the citizens and ensure his will is done."

It was still a concept he could not understand. "The people act as if they have no say in the matter."

"Rare is the man who is willing to oppose the status quo," Machiavelli scoffed. "And so it falls to us to help them see the truth."

Ezio disagreed privately. After all he'd read in the Codex, what he'd seen, he could not have such little faith in the people. They could fight back; they just didn't feel like they had the ability. Machiavelli, however, scorned them, so Ezio chose not to speak up. For now.

In the streets the corpses they passed in Oltrarno seemed more numerous than in other districts, but Ezio finally spied several that he could recognize.

"Those bodies bear the emblem of the Borgia..." he said, pointing to a cart carrying several armed corpses that was being pulled by an old nag down the street.

"Yes," Machiavelli nodded. "The Spaniard keeps sending his soldiers into Firenze, and Firenze keeps sending them back – usually in pieces."

Normally Ezio would have smiled at this, a blow to the Spaniard, but this was actually bad news. "Then he knows the Apple is here as well... An unfortunate complication," he observed.

"Indeed."

They arrived at the Palazzo Pitti, commissioned shortly before Ezio had been born by Florentine banker Luca Pitti, a large supporter of Lorenzo's grandfather Cosimo de' Medici, it had still been unfinished when Ezio had fled Florence after the Pitti suffered financial losses after Cosimo's death, but it appeared someone had finished it in the meantime. Seven arched windows seemed to be the theme of the façade, reminiscent of Roman aqueducts, and there was an almost rustic quality to the stonework that made the structure almost scream power. Machiavelli didn't even need to say anything; this was where Savonarola was hiding.

Studying the walls, there were many good handholds, but the flow of a veritable army of guards around the building made any hopes of sneaking in dim. "A direct assault would be dangerous. Especially with the Apple in his possession," Ezio rubbed at his beard. While Ezio doubted the Apple could control him, anyone else, even friends, may become potential enemies in the Piece of Eden's grasp.

"True," Machiavelli acceded. "But what other option is there?"

Ezio turned and looked out to the people rushing about their business, the citizens he'd spoken with and listened to. "Aside from the city's leaders, the people's minds are their own, correct?"

"_Sì_," Machiavelli said, perplexed.

"And they follow Savonarola not by choice, but force and fear?"

"_Sì_."

Ezio smiled. "Then I propose we use this to our advantage. If we can silence his lieutenants and stir up discontent, he will be distracted and I will have a chance to strike."

Machiavelli leaned back, thinking. "Clever. I'll speak with La Volpe and Paola. They can help to organize the uprising as you free districts."

"Then it's settled. We'll take care of his abettors."

It took the better part of two weeks of Volpe's thieves and Paola's courtesans to ferret out who the most likely bewitched lieutenants of Savonarola could be. Mario arrived with some of his men and they helped in scouting out where Savonarola's closest went and what their routines were and where they might go. From there it was a matter of dividing up who would deal with whom.

Ezio's first target was a monk, Silvestro Maruffi, who spoke before the Duomo. Thus, Sunday, Ezio joined the city in the massive church that was such a landmark for all of Florence and observed the sermon.

Most of the citizenry didn't understand Latin, they just listened and prayed until the sermon came, which was the one part of Mass that they could understand in proper Italian. This preacher, however, tended to slip into Latin as he spoke, something that Ezio, as a noble and being able to read and write, _could_ understand.

Ezio could not deny his disgust.

"Almighty God, the King of kings, to Him, that governs all, Whose power no creature is able to resist, to Whom it is proper to punish sinners, and of those who truly have mercy on the act of repentance, keep it, and deliver us, we ask You humbly."

So this priest wished no mercy for those who "repented" of their "evil" vanities? Ezio shook his head.

"By the hand of His enemies, restrain their overindulgences, subtract the wickedness of their vanities, their practices."

Ezio scoffed silently. As if God would come down and do as He pleased. No, the people were given Free Will, and as such, they had to follow their own path, learn from their own mistakes, that was how God had left them, if Ezio even believed in that story any more by this point.

"Who art the only giver of victory, because of the merits of the only Begotten Son. Of the Lord, Thy Son, our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen."

And the crowd chanted, "Amen," because they were supposed to.

Then the priest recited the Our Father.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on Earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation. But deliver us from evil. Amen."

"Amen."

With Mass at an end, Ezio, robed as a priest as well, eased forward to follow. Blending with the other monks was easy as he hunched his shoulders and took the slow pace of one in prayer, hands clasped as he muttered to himself. He followed the priest with his eagle eyes, watching the golden trail in a sea of black and brown vestments. Ezio stayed in the man's shadow, not wishing to kill anyone in the Duomo, not seeking to be like the Pazzi who had used such holy ground so callously. Ezio himself may no longer believe in religion, didn't even grow up believing in it much to begin with, but he understood that for many this was sacred ground and not to be defiled.

Eventually, the priest headed out for food and Ezio easily shadowed after him in the thick Sunday crowds of Florence. Once in a tavern, the priest sought a table alone, but Ezio joined him, plunging his hidden blade into the man's side.

The priest blinked, then looked around him as if for the first time and with complete clarity. Turning to Ezio, he bowed his bald head. "You are to be my confessor," he whispered. "I thought Savonarola preached the word of God."

"I fear his sermon is a lie," Ezio replied kindly.

"I led my flock astray..." the priest said quietly in an almost sob. "It's just... I wanted so badly to believe..."

"We all do," Ezio acknowledged. "_Requiescat in pace_."

"My thanks... my son..."

And with a heavy sigh, the priest breathed his last. Ezio leaned him back and left, giving a bow as if a conversation had just finished.

Not long after word reached the assassins that a man - a noble - was blocking the bridges to the Oltrarno District. Mario dealt with him, rather brilliantly climbing the roofs at the age of sixty-three as nimbly as a thief and assassinating the man as he preached cruelty from the balcony of his villa. Volpe proudly announced some time later he had assassinated a trader threatening to starve the people if they did not submit to Savonarola's rule.

A few days later, May air warming the city, word reached Florence that the Pope had excommunicated Savonarola. The priest's response was to keep on preaching, even knowing that three of his lieutenants were dead.

With that in mind, they paused to assess who their next target should be. _Fra_ Silvestro had been picked as an opening salvo, to announce the presence of the Assassin and warn Savonarola to return the Apple. With three of his closest gone, excommunicated by the Pope, and Savonarola showed no signs of stopping, they decided to go for another major lieutenant. With that in mind, Ezio began researching _fra_ Domenico da Pescia. He was a preacher, like Savonarola, and ardently declaimed the Vanities and the tragedy that had wrought on the jewel of Italy - especially now, that the end of days was coming.

"People of Firenze!" he shouted. "Come! Gather round. Listen well to what I say! The end approaches! Now is the time to repent! To beg God's forgiveness. Don't you see?! The _signs_ are all around us: Unrest! Famine! Disease! Corruption! These are the harbingers of _darkness_! Then end of the century approaches; it will soon be one-thousand five-hundred years since the time of Our Lord, and what have we done in that time? We've _castrated_ ourselves on the altar of Vanity!"

Several men shifted uncomfortably in the audience, and Ezio slowly parted from the crowds, looking for a place to climb.

"We must stand firm in our devotion lest they _consume us all_! I see you doubt; that you think me mad. Ah... but did the Romans not say the same to Jesus? Do we not face the _exact_ same plight? A prophet has come to declaim a failing and corrupt civilization; Savonarola is giving you a chance to save yourselves, and yet you doubt him! When the end of days arrives, he will remember! Remember who doubted, and who showed true faith! Know that I too once shared your uncertainty, your fear. But that was before Savonarola came to me. He showed me the _truth_! At last, my eyes were _opened_. And so I stand before you today in the hope that I might open yours as well! The end is approaching, and we must _repent_! We must turn from our wicked, self-indulgent, selfish ways. The Lorenzo de' Medici did not repent - and look at what happened to him! It was the hand of God that failed his banks, which struck him from this mortal coil. Do you want to share his fate? _Do you_? Then take off your finery, condemn the sodomy, _burn_ the mirrors, cosmetics, lewd pictures, pagan books, immoral sculptures, gaming tables, chess pieces, lutes and musical instruments. Do so and you will be saved!"

"I don't think so!" Ezio announced, standing on the roof above. The people looked up to see the silhouette of an eagle, and Ezio swooped down three stories with practiced ease, sinking his blade deep into the body of the monk, letting the man's body break his fall.

_Fra_ Domenico did not have a sudden vision of clarity, indeed his face did not change at all with his impending death, and Ezio realized just how far gone the man was.

"Your mind... I sense it is your own," he said softly, the stunned crowd watching.

Domenico smiled. "Not all of us required deception to be convinced. I already believe. All I said is true."

"_Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember:_"

"Nothing is true," Ezio said, pulling his hidden blade out and closing the man's eyes. "This is not an easy thing I do," he offered, pulling back. "_Requiescat in pace_."

"It's the Assassin..."

"The Assassin is back..."

"He'll deliver us..."

"_Stronzo_! Arrest him!"

Ezio took off, disappearing from the guards like a wisp of smoke, and unsettled with what the people had said. Deliver them? He was only to free them, why did they not see? He was troubled when he returned to Paola's bordello, explaining what he saw to his uncle.

"The port authority had similar words, if you remember," the grandmaster said, "He said sometimes the people need to be told what to think. There are days when that is true, but most days a man knows for himself what will improve his life and what will make it worse; what a man needs, instead, is the courage to act on what he knows."

By late August, another lieutenant had died; a bitter farmer who was tired of insults and contempt, and in his desire for respect had sided with Savonarola. Volpe had done the deed, and in October Paola, through her courtesans because of her failing eyes, scratched another off the list: a doctor enthralled with the power over life and death, enhanced by the Apple, she explained, and poisoned by his own medicine. The irony of it flew threw the streets of Florence, and again they praised the work of the Assassin.

Early November Volpe lead a magnificent chase through the streets of Florence, chasing a nobleman aligned with Savonarola, charmed by the Apple and cowardly shirking responsibility in his death. "It's not my fault!" he had shouted for all the world to hear, to which Volpe had solemnly informed him, "You made a choice." Another man in a hood sited at a death, and the people were beginning to think the tyranny might end. The result of this was twofold: first, an increase of fighting in the streets between three factions: the Borgia who were still sent to retrieve the Apple, Savonarola's supporters, and now the people who were tired and wanted change - feeling safe enough to say so. The Assassins were heartened to see the people rise up, but Ezio was beginning to suspect something else, he eyed them warily, listening to their rumors.

"Salvation is coming!"

"We may yet survive."

"The Assassin will fix everything!"

A second result of their work was Savonarola's increased guard.

Mario, tracking one of his targets at the turn of the year, had arrived in Mercato Vecchio to find it empty of its usual commerce. In proof, his target, one of the city guard captains, had laid a trap, leaving the sixty-three year old to fight a dozen guards. Volpe and Ezio had learned of the treachery through the street gossip, and both had arrived separately to help, Volpe joining the fight below and Ezio artfully sneaking along the roof of the open-air market, listening to the captain ranting from above.

"It's interesting. Every day, without fail, another of you approaches. Nonconformists. Malcontents. Revolutionaries. Rebels. I've seen it - and heard - it all. Just excuses. Am I to believe you're a champion of the downtrodden, then? A hero come to free the city? A rebel leader intent on ushering in a new age? One who fights for justice? Liberty? Hmmm? Which lie do you tell yourself!? And do not be mistaken. These are lies. No matter what any of you say - you're all here for the same reason. The same selfish reason: You seek something. Glory. Distinction. Fame. Rewards either physical, spiritual - or both! You're making a very big mistake."

"No," Ezio said, "_You_ are."

He stabbed him in the back.

The captain looked around, looked at the fight below, confused, and turned to Ezio with clear eyes. "... Is this truly who I was?" he asked. "So proud and cruel...?"

Another slave to the Apple. "No," he said, helping the man fall softly onto the slanted roof tiles. "Savonarola bewitched you."

"...Did he? Or was it that I tasted power and found myself intoxicated?"

Ezio had no answer for him.

"...I wish I had been stronger."

Nodding, Ezio replied: "As do I. I am truly sorry, but there was no other way. _Requiescat in pace_."

Mario and Volpe had taken care of the fray below, and all three disappeared to the roofs, but Ezio could see the eyes in the windows.

They had little time to breathe after that, February came cold and rainy, and Ezio had at last tracked the final lieutenant to one of the bonfires in Oltrarno. Though Ezio wondered if there were many "vanities" left, Savonarola still held bonfires for people to throw things as innocuous as lutes and musical instruments into the fire. The paintings, however, Ezio took somewhat personally. Being friends with Leonardo, and a painter himself, he could not understand why such artwork was considered a sin, could not fathom how the trade had been cast in such wickedness. Michelangelo, once a ward of Lorenzo de' Medici himself, threw his work into the fires, and Savonarola himself was rumored to personally throw in the works of Botticelli - what he had against the painter, no one knew for certain.

So it was satisfying - if such a word could be used - that the last lieutenant left to assassinate was an artist, a painter, and Ezio watched from the roofs as the painter walked about in the square in front of Palazzo Pitti.

"Reject the base and material!" he was preaching as he took the gathered paintings and threw them into the bonfire. "Seek salvation in the flames! The brush, the pen, the sculptor's clay! These are the Devil's tools, and what wretched things they birth! So today I call upon you to cast off these abominations; and consign them to the flames that you may be cleansed, that you may be _free_! Give them up – or my guards will do it for you!"

Family portraits, presents, depictions of Greek and Roman lore that Lorenzo de' Medici had so treasured - the essence of the Humanist movement and classical thought, all were thrown into the fire. Anything that portrayed nudity was considered lewd, illustrated books were sacrilegious, moldings and sculptures depicting the Classics were classified as pagan, and all were burned. The smoke from the oils was black and thick, and as Ezio slowly made his way across platforms and crossbeams, his eyes stung - though from the smoke or in sorrow of the incalculable losses, he was not sure.

"When I first became a painter," the lieutenant said, "I did so as a means to express my devotion to God. Here, there was an opportunity to grow closer to him. For, if divinity were perfection, then surely capturing it would be divine? It seemed a righteous work. A form of prayer – of worship. And if others might gaze upon my creations and see something of the Lord within – well, would they not be also brought closer to Him? And so I thought myself an altruist. A speaker. A preacher. A guide to those who had lost their faith. But in truth, I was deceived: the Devil is a crafty sort, his manipulations, many. I thought my works were windows, but in truth, they were doors. Doors that allowed his corrupting influence to enter into our world. My art did not comfort people – but poisoned them instead! Made them lustful and base and immoral when before they were not."

... Was _that_ what he thought? That the mere act of looking at paintings, at the depiction of naked flesh or classical literature, somehow encouraged people to turn away from God? What sophistry! What of the symbolism inherent in all paintings? How did studying the naked form - the ultimate creation of God, make people turn away? What of the lessons of the Greek and Roman lore? No, it was not a painting that made men turn away; it was the men themselves, making their own decisions. To assume a man so simple-minded... It was the ultimate lack of faith in humanity - and humanity was the very creation of God! Ezio's body tensed, waiting for his chance.

"I had been deceived! But now I have a chance to make amends. To undo the damage I have wrought. I pray that you will join me! Free yourselves of deception and corruption! Give up your blasphemous works! Ink and canvas evoke desire, which in turn, births jealousy and rage. Destroy them! Suppress such emotions for they are dangerous! Dedicate yourselves wholly unto our Lord and his prophet, Savonarola!"

At last, the deranged painter passed under Ezio, and he leapt from above, diving down and assassinating the painter. He watched as, like the others, his eyes cleared, and he looked around at the fires, at his own artwork burning, the priceless relics disappearing in smoke.

"What have I done...?" he moaned. "What have I done...!"

"Your actions were not your own," Ezio said softly.

"But they were! My own self-doubt let him hold me as he did. And now..."

"As a painter," Ezio said, feeling connection to this tortured painter, "I know that a man's painting reflects that which is in his very soul. I'm certain your biblical paintings were as the Lord himself."

"But now... But now... I am sorry," he said, crying as he breathed his last. "I am so..."

"As am I," Ezio said solemnly, nodding his head. "This is not a choice I make lightly. _Requiescat in pace_."

He stood from the body, stepping back, and saw the people staring at him.

"The Assassin..."

"The _assassino_..."

"Our time has come, he is the sign!"

"We must act swiftly!"

"Let the _assassino's_ action guide us!"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Dear GOD you don't want to know how hard it was to write this. Once Columbus sailed the ocean blue it was one teeth-grinding scene after another, because it was ALL history and not plot to be had. Trying to fit Ezio in to observe it all, trying to make it all make sense, trying to show how dire things were becoming, it was a pain in the freakin' butt! Our biggest concern, despite our beloved beta's reassurances, is that the flow is screwy. That's a lot of ground to cover and a lot of facts that are just, sort of, thrown at you despite our best efforts. We hope you were able to get through it.

The payoff, of course is surviving the marathon to the Bonfire of the Vanities, and putting that unquestionably long sequence on fast forward, picking and choosing the targets and showing just what Ezio looks like to the people. It all has to built up to his speech at Savonarola's death, right? (whistles innocently)

... And it was BORGIA that made slavery okay in the New World? ... We know who to blame now!

Next chapter: Cristina. 'Nuff said.


	25. Death of a Schismist

**Part Twenty-Five: Death of a Shismist**

The outcry from the people was so loud that just three weeks later, in March, Savonarola announced that he would retire from public speaking. The people would have none of that, however, and demanded that he come forth, demanded that he prove he was the Prophet and perform a miracle. Someone suggested a Trial by Fire, and it was enthusiastically agreed. A date was set, and in the first week of April, Savonarola and his challenger were set to walk through fire - to see whom God truly supported. It would be the first Trial by Fire in Florence's history in over four hundred years.

The Assassins watched from the crowd, and Ezio shifted uncomfortably from one boot to the next.

Paola sensed his discomfort and watched him under her arched brows. "You've done well, Ezio," she said in a reassuring voice.

Ezio was not convinced. "What happens now?" he asked.

Machiavelli smirked. "Watch."

The Trial was delayed. And delayed again. And delayed _again_. The crowds grew ever incensed, people were demanding to see who God supported, there were catcalls for the Assassin to join in and prove who was the _true_ Prophet (and Ezio ducked his head on hearing this), and then, at last, at long last...

It rained.

And the Trial was canceled.

The public was in an uproar. They mobbed the Palazzo Piti, demanding retribution, demanding the Trial, demanding Savonarola's _death_, and pressed against the _palazzo_, intent on doing... something. Savonarola was forced to come out, looking down at the crowd, and shouted at them.

"Silence! I demand silence!" he shouted. "Why are you here?! Why do you disturb me?! You should be cleansing your homes. Cleansing your _selves_! There are bonfires to feed! Prayers to be said! Penance to be done!"

"_You_ have penance to do!"

"Show us a miracle _now,_ eh!"

"Prove you are the Prophet!"

And, back against the wall, unable to quell the masses, he reached into a pouch and pulled out a harmless silver ball.

"There it is!" Machiavelli hissed, "We could not _hope_ for a better outcome."

He, Ezio, and Volpe all reached for throwing knives, taking careful aim through the rain. Ezio watched as the monk rose his fist, the Apple glowing gold, and he could hear the whispers, _silence stillness quiet obey serve submit_, and watched in horror as the masses began to quiet, eyes glazing over, arms hanging limply at their sides. Even Machiavelli, and Paola, and Volpe, started to sway, and Ezio wasted no more time.

He dared not kill the man in such a mob, and he didn't even want to _think_ about trying to hit the Apple, and so he aimed instead for the man's hand, and his aim held true. The Apple deactivated, and glow disappeared, and as everyone shook their heads they realized - at least in part - the peril they had almost endured.

"_No_!" Savonarola shouted. "You will _submit_! I am the _Prophet_!"

"Prophet of lies!"

"Get him!"

"Arrest him!"

"Heretic! Blasphemer! _Sinner_!"

And in the chaos, Volpe pointed, and the assassins watched as a Borgia man ran through the crowds and grabbed the silver orb. "Get the Apple, Ezio!" he growled. "You are the fastest!"

Ezio didn't even have time to marvel that La Volpe had made such an admission, he was already off like an arrow, working his way frantically through the crowd before following the Borgia man up the slope of the _palazzo's_ gardens and down an alley, gaining ground quickly. The Borgia courier was fast, to be sure, but not _nearly_ as fast as the thirty-eight year old assassin, and Ezio leapt up a cart, a series of barrels, up to a platform to give him height, and then jumped, covering several meters before his hidden blade found its mark in the man's neck, and the impact was so great the two rolled slightly; but Ezio was up on his feet in an instant, and a quick search of the pockets found the artifact that he had been searching for for ten years. A decade of his life spent chasing this little ball.

_The Prophet! He is ready! Ready to meet her!_

The ball started to glow, and Ezio quickly wrapped the damn thing in a handkerchief and tucked it away in a pouch. He wasn't _about_ to let that thing control him the way it had Savonarola. Whatever it wanted, Ezio was determined to deny it.

When he returned to the square, he saw Savonarola being assaulted and dragged away; guards eventually interceding and arresting him, and the people overcome with energy. With no Savonarola to focus their anger on, the people quickly dissolved into a mob, dispersing to the streets and taking their anger out on whatever caught their attention; breaking down bonfires, fighting Savonarola's supporters, his supporters struggling to continue their work. Mario directed the Assassins to quell the thralls, each taking key section of the city.

Ezio was assigned the southern San Giovanni district, and he paced about the streets of his old home, seeing angry people to be certain, but no out and out mobs. At least, that was until he saw a body that crumbled out of an alley. The clothes were fine, that of a merchant, but it was the face that caught Ezio's attention, one he had seen years ago, at the docks of the Arno, after beating up men determined to seek the man's gambling debts. It was...

It was...

"Manfredo!?" He ran to the man, kneeling down and helping him sit up by a merchant stall. He pulled his hood down to make his face more visible, hoping the man would recognize him. "What happened?" he demanded.

He had several sword wounds, two of them fatal; there was nothing Ezio could do. Manfredo's eyes rolled about in his head; focus difficult for him. Ezio shook him.

"Men..." he said slowly, his words slurred. "Savonarola's men... They came through, destroying everything."

Savonarola's fanatics? Lurking about, near _Cristina_? And now Manfredo was down, nearly dead, and no one around to protect her? Ezio's words became louder, frantic, rushed. "Where is Cristina!? Manfredo! _Where is she_?"

Manfredo's eyes stopped rolling, focusing on Ezio, and they widened, slightly, comprehension dawning on him, or perhaps recognition. "She ran... They went after her! Ezio...!"

But he was already moving. No, no. "No...!" He would not let her be hurt!

Manfredo smiled as Ezio ran off. "I know... you'll prote..." and he died with a smile on his face.

Ezio, heedless of the people around him, raced through the streets, working his way up to the roofs and calling on his eagle to guide him, looking for traces of gold. Instinct drove him east, deeper into the city, and he was just at the Santa Trinita church when his ears picked up what they needed.

"Whore! Where are your riches now?"

"Leave me alone! Get away! I did nothing to you!"

"Your fancy house, your expensive dress! They are sins against the Lord!"

"Help me! Someone, help!"

And the Assassin leapt down to the streets and up the steps to the back of the church. There was the brunette, four of Savonarola's men accosting her, three with drawn blades. That was all he had time to process as he ran, full tilt, to the scene. He would protect Cristina, he would _die_ to protect her, and he would be _damned_ if he failed in his own home! "Cristina!" he roared, his rich baritone so loud it echoed over the entire square, shocking everyone to stillness as this sudden thunderstorm approached. "_RUN_!"

His lost love did not need to be told twice, she darted down a street, the fanatics still staring at Ezio, and he used it to his advantage as he extended both of his hidden blades, and only then did they realize just who, _what_, was approaching, and they all ran after Cristina.

Like _hell_ they were!

Ezio leapt on the slowest guard, blades sinking deep into his back - one getting stuck on the shoulder blade, and Ezio cursed as he had to _wait to pull the blade out_, angry because it was a race _against time_, he had to save _Cristina_, and God damn it all _he would not fail!_

Yanking the blade out at last he took off down the street that Cristina had fled, arms and legs pumping, breath coming out in hot bursts as desperation pushed him further and further, faster and faster. He found another Savonarola fanatic, and he leapt, killing the attacker much more cleanly, and was off once more, racing through streets, shoving past crowds, plowing through guards heedless of the dangers. A third man, red by his eagle, appeared and Ezio drew his sword and cut him down without even _stopping_, bursting out onto a main square.

Where was Cristina?

_Where was she_...?

He heard a shout, and his body moved on its own, he all but appeared at the opening of an alley and saw the fourth attacker, sword bloody, _bloody_! Ezio didn't even think, he took his own sword, the sword of Altair, and cut the man down viciously in the back - no honor, no warning, just sudden death incarnate, and he didn't even clean it as he sheathed it; his eyes, his focus, his mind, his_ being_ absorbed only with the brunette who was sliding to the ground.

Blood, there was blood...!

Ezio reached into one of his pouches to get his medical pack, pulling it out.

"Cristina," he said, panting and uncertain why. His entire body was vibrating with energy, with _panic_, and he unrolled bandages and set out salve and wine. "Cristina, hold on, I'm here."

The woman looked up, clutching her side, and stared at him with wide eyes. "... Ezio...?" she whispered, eyes doubling in size.

"Don't worry," he said, his rich baritone tight as he touched her, searching for the source of the blood. "I'll do what I can here, and then I'll take you to a doctor."

"... You're here," she whispered, shocked, and winced when Ezio's fingers found the wound.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I have to cut away the fabric to tend the wound. Forgive me."

He pulled out his boot knife gently pushing away Cristina's hands, the woman staring at him in shock, as he ripped the frock, the linen, the corset, to gain access to her skin. It was _covered_ with blood. Grabbing one of his rags, Ezio wiped the coppery liquid away. He saw stretch marks, along her hip that had never been there before - she had given birth, at some point. She had a child...

It should have been his child...

No, that didn't matter. It was all the more reason to tend to her, and with some exploration he found the wound.

And he stared.

It was... It was...

No, he could do this.

He flicked his eyes to Cristina, and she could only stare at him, still in shock.

"I..." he started, but his voice cracked, and he coughed, tried again. "It will be fine," he said in a tight voice. "I'll do what I can here, and then I'll get you to a doctor; you'll see, everything will be fine."

It would be fine. It _would_. He could _do_ this. He took a shaky breath and pulled out the wine, pouring it over the wound.

"Ah!" Cristina gasped, instinctively pulling away from the sting. "My _God_, Ezio, that hurts!"

"I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_! But I need to-"

"No, no, I understand..." She took a deep shuddering breath. "Ezio..."

"Yes?"

But she said nothing, and Ezio was forced to concentrate, to keep his hands still, to remember everything Alfeo had ever taught him before he died. He could _do_ this. Surely, _surely,_ he could save Cristina as he couldn't save his father and his brothers, he could do this _one thing_, just this _one tiny thing_. He pressed the compress into her side, but blood was seeped out all too quickly, and Ezio saw that there was a _second_ wound on her other side. He cursed, his fingers shaking as he held the compress with one hand and tried to cut open the layers of fabric to discern the second wound.

Damn it.

_Damn_ it.

He rolled up a second compress and then pulled out another rag - he couldn't treat both wounds, and they were deep enough that his field pack wasn't going to cut it. He had to get her to a doctor, all he could do was wrap the wounds as tightly as he could and hope for the best.

He ripped the rag into strips and pulled them as tight as he could. Cristina moaned against the dressings, and when Ezio at last looked up he saw that she was white as a sheet.

_DAMN IT! _Couldn't he do this _one_ thing?

"Ezio..."

He swept her up into his arms, exiting the alley and darting down the street, his bloody hands, bloody clothes, and the prone Cristina parting the people in the evening light like a wave. He pushed and pushed and _pushed_, trying to remember where his old doctor held residence, trying to remember which street. Surely, he would pass another apothecary on the way...? He had to get _somewhere_; he was running out of time!

He had to _do this!_

"Cristina... Hold on," he said, his rich baritone betraying his panic, his tight anxiety. "I'll get you to a doctor... You're going to be all right."

"No... Ezio...," she said, reaching up weakly and gripping one of his starched collars. "I don't think I am..."

"No!" Ezio insisted, kneeling down to get a better look at her. Where was the doctor's place? _Where_? Her head lolled back, unable to support itself, and Ezio gave a choked cry, lifting her head back up. "Don't... Don't go... Stay with me, Cristina. You have to stay with me... I promise. I promise I won't ever let you go again, so _stay with me_!"

Her eyes opened, glazed and clear at the same time. She looked up at Ezio, emotions of eternity filling her face, and she smiled. Softly. Gently. She even gave a soft cough of a laugh. "Ezio..." she moaned, her voice getting softer and softer. "Don't you know...? I've always been with you."

And with the last of her strength, she touched his hand, guided it gently into her frock, and Ezio found the chain of a necklace, and attached to the necklace was a medallion - _his_ medallion, the Auditore crest.

Had she worn it all this time? Even in Venice? Had she always thought of him, even in her anger, in her disappointment? She... she had never stopped loving him?

She, like Ezio, had never stopped...

His eyes watered. "Cristina, I never stopped loving you, even after everything that's happened, everything I've been through, everything I've done. I never stopped..."

She nodded, still smiling. "I wish we... could have had... a second chance..."

And she died, smiling, happy, held in the arms of her true love.

He sobbed, holding her face, kissing her smile, pressing his face into her rich brown hair. "_Requiescat in pace_," he cried, "... my love."

* * *

He held her for time indeterminate, rocking back and forth, sobbing, hurting, dying right along with her. Paola found him first, and was unable to move him from the body, and it wasn't until Mario was found that anyone could even reach him. For days, he just stared out whatever window he was set in front of, tears streaming down his face intermittently; he was dimly aware of people talking around him, worrying that he had gone into shock as his mother had so many years ago, but all he could think about was Cristina, the adventures in their courtship, her unmatchable strength on the worst day of his life, his painful decision to leave her behind, their clandestine meeting in Venice and her anger, her hurt, and now... now... her last words.

"_I wish we could have had a second chance..._"

"Me, too, Cristina. Me, too."

And he would press his face to the glass of the window and weep all over again.

One morning, he awoke and there were no more tears left in him. He felt thirsty, and tired, and empty, and it was work to put on his doublet - someone had cleaned it for him - and shrug on his armor and hood. He walked down the stairs and to the kitchens to find bread, wine, something.

Mario was there, and he leveled a hard look on Ezio.

"Are you back with us?" he asked.

"... Yes," Ezio said, weary.

And Mario embraced him, arm thumping his back in sympathy. "I'm sorry, _nipote_. I'm so, so sorry."

And all Ezio could whisper was: "... I loved her..."

Mario spent the entire day with Ezio, hovering, talking when he felt it safe, giving him space when he saw it necessary. He repeated the process for over a week, until at last Ezio saw that the world was moving all around him, and though he couldn't understand why, he knew enough that he had to start moving with it. On shaky ground he asked for an update on what had been happening.

Mario smiled, sadly, and explained that it was late May, and that Savonarola, under torture, had confessed, retracted, confessed, retracted, and so on and so forth his crimes. But now the trial was on, and would he like to watch?

Watch the man responsible for Cristina's death be brought to justice?

"Yes," he said in a dark voice.

Savonarola was convicted of heresy and being a schismist, and sentenced to die immediately. The crowds exploded with the news, and happily sought to help matters along. Ezio and the others were in the crowds, watching, as the fallen priest was dragged to the gallows.

"God bears witness to this sacrilege!" he shouted, fear and spittle ejecting from his mouth. "That you would handle his prophet this way! Blasphemers! Heretics! You'll burn for this. _Do you year me_? You'll _burn_!"

"Hanging is too good for him!"

"Burn, he says? Let's oblige him!"

"Get the tinder!"

"Let's see God save you now, heretic!"

And Savonarola was dragged from the gallows, the crowds shouting and cursing and cheering over his fate, pressing against itself to bear witness to the delicious entertainment. The _piazza_ was filled with people, Ezio could not remember seeing the square so full except for... except for...

Except for when his family was hung.

The parallel shook him badly; so much that Mario saw him sway and gave him a steadying hand. Ezio could picture it all too clearly, Petruccio, Federico, his father, all on the gallows, Uberto Alberti playing up the crowd, the Spaniard there watching as proud witness, the pulling of the lever, the snapping, the choking, Giovanni's last desperate gambit. He remembered Petruccio whimpering, Federico turning to see if he was all right. He remembered his father's bitter and angry last words.

And he remembered how he felt.

He watched as Savonarola was tied to a hastily constructed steak on the gallows, timber and kindling piled around him, torches lit with flint, and he could see the fear inherent on Savonarola's face, could _feel_ it, as he had when, as a boy, Uberto Alberti set his men on him and Ezio realized just how close to death he was. He remembered that one, panicked thought.

_I don't want to die._

Savonarola felt that fear now, as the torches were set on the kindling, and the fire began to spread. He shrieked and cried out anew.

"O Lord, show mercy... Deliver me from evil's embrace... Surrounded as I am by sin, I cry out to you for salvation! Save me! _Save meeeeee!_"

...

No one deserved to die in such pain.

... No one deserved to die, not even this poor, pathetic excuse of a man. Ezio held no anger for him, not even for what had happened to Cristina - though the thought of her face darkened his gaze - Ezio saw Savonarola for what he was: desperate, greedy, and now bereft. He was a coward, who used the Apple to better his existence, to further his agenda, and now without it he had returned to being spineless once again, and Ezio could not hate cowards. Only pity them.

He could not save his father, nor his brothers, nor even his beloved Cristina, but he could save this man.

He shoved his way through the crowds, heedless as they cried out, pointing, recognizing him, as he hoisted himself onto the platform where Savonarola was praying in Latin. "Woe is me, all help bereft, who greatly offended heaven, whither shall I go? Where shall I turn? Where shall I fly? Who shalt pity me? I do not dare to lift my eyes to heaven. For I have sinned against him seriously. I find no refuge on earth. Because if the offense-"

Savonarola's prayers stopped, his eyes widening as, through the fire, he saw Ezio racing up the platform, extending his hidden blade and leaping up.

"It's you! I knew this day would come. Please, show mercy!"

Ezio plunged his hidden blade deep into Savonarola's neck, shocking everyone, most of all the newly dead monk, and pulled away from the fire as it began to lick at the body's feet.

"I have shown mercy," he said softly, backing up from the flames. "Go now, that you may be judged by your God. _Requiescat in pace_."

"It's the _assassino_!"

"He's saved us again!"

"Tell us what to do!"

"Show us how to fix this!"

"Bless us, _messere_!"

Ezio looked out over the crowd, listening to their cries, and he could not bring himself to understand them. Or, perhaps, he understood them all to well. He raised his hands to quell the voices. Direction? Who was _he_ to give direction?

"_Silenzio. Silenzio_," he called out, feeling awkward, out in the open. But at the same time, he knew that this tragedy would repeat itself if he did not speak his mind, did not guide them as he himself had been guided.

They looked up to him, eager for his words, for his vision, for his law.

Ezio pulled his hood off, bearing his face for all to see, that they would understand everything.

"Twenty-two years ago, I stood where I stand now," he said, "and watched my loved ones die, betrayed by those I had called friends. My father, Giovanni Auditore, and my brothers, Federico and Petruccio. My efforts to save them had been betrayed by the _Gonfaloniere_, Uberto Alberti. Vengeance clouded my mind. I was lost, angry with the world, wary to trust anything ever again. All I had, all I could cling to, was my revenge." His eyes surveyed the crowd, watching the faces, the confusion. What was he talking about? Where was the message? But he found familiar faces in the crowd: Machiavelli, complicated and aloof; Paola, mysterious and compassionate; Volpe, confident and cunning; and Mario, the Mentor, generous and loving.

He smiled.

"Revenge," he said, "It would have consumed me, were it not for the wisdom of a few strangers, who taught me to look past my instincts. They never preached answers, but guided me to learn from myself. For twenty-two years, I have learned, over and over, the value of the freedom you think you'll find in me. It's so much easier to have someone tell you what to do, how to think, what to feel. But it is that very desire that creates bitterness, hatred, and resentment. You want me to tell you want to do. But no one told me what to do, not even my greatest mentors, those strangers who saved me; and now I've grown to where I _don't_ need someone to tell me what to do."

He paused, looking out over the crowds, letting his words be absorbed. "_We_ don't need anyone to tell us what to do:" he shouted, "not Savonarola, not the Medici, not the Pope, not _anyone_. We are free to follow our own path. Make our own decisions. Learn from our own mistakes. It is that - whatever the consequences, whatever the trials, whatever the pain, it is _that_ which makes us free! To learn for ourselves what is right, what is just, what is important, what is necessary!

"There are those who will take that freedom from us, and too many of you gladly give it. But it is our ability to _choose_ - whatever you think is true - that makes us human... There is no book or teacher to give you the answers, to show you the way. Choose your own way! Do not follow me, or anyone else. I can only _show_ you my lessons, you must _learn_ your own. The savior you are looking for - the savior of Firenze - is each and every one of you!"

Satisfied, he jumped form the platform. The crowds parted, like the sea from the Bible, and Ezio made his way to the "strangers" he so admired.

Mario was smiling, pride bursting on his face, and without a word he placed a hand on Ezio's shoulder, nodding.

"_Zio_," Ezio said softly. "... I want to go home."

"And so we shall, _nipote_, so we shall."

* * *

Though he had pulled himself together enough to finish with Savonarola, Ezio was still in mourning, and when he finally arrived in Monteriggioni, he didn't even have the energy to say hello to Federica, only nodded to her, and Claudia and Maria, and went up to his loft. The next day he stretched a canvas and began sketching, mixing paints and oils and experimenting with color, and for the next six months he painted a portrait of Cristina Vespucci, a bright, strong, elegant woman who would always be in his heart.

He did not speak much - he had not entered shock as Maria had, but he was so obsessed with his painting that it was hard to pull him away, he wanted every stroke, every hair, every eyelash, to be perfect, and he wanted to get it done before she faded from his mind, as his father and brothers were.

When December rolled around, the hardest month for the Auditore, Ezio could not even bring himself to find company in his bed - without the reassurance that Cristina was out there and happy, well, it just didn't appeal to him, and he spent many chilly nights painting by candle light, sometimes sick, but unable to pull away.

February dawned, and Ezio was at last finished, and it was like he woke up from a long sleep. He looked around, across the room to Claudia who was going over accounts. She looked up, an ink smear on her chin, and Ezio smiled; softly, nodding, and unveiled the portrait.

Everyone agreed it was stunning, and Mario quickly put it up in the gallery.

Not long after, he sought out Mario.

"It is time, Uncle," he said. "Let us finish what you and my father started all those years ago..."

Mario's relief was palpable, and he nodded.

"Indeed. Perhaps now we can finally make sense of this prophecy - and put a stop to whatever it is the Spaniard is plotting."

"We should start by locating the Vault. The Codex pages will lead us to it. Let's take a look."

The two pulled out all the Codex pages they had gathered over the decades; some were still missing - it was likely they would never collect them all, lost to antiquity. For almost two months, with help from Claudia and Maria both, they assembled the pages into the book it was meant to be, arguing over the order of the pages at first, before finally creating a loose chronology based on the hints Altair had given about his children or his travels. Flipping through the newly created book, rereading all the pages chronologically, none of the Auditore could understand how to ascertain the location of the Vault that the great Grandmaster had hinted in his writings. There was no oblique reference to a location, any they could find pointed to Cyprus - which of course was in relation not to the Vault but to the location of the Apple in their possession. They studied the decorative boarders, where the hidden writing that talked of the prophecy and the two Pieces of Eden coming together in Venice.

By then it was approaching winter, and it was Maria who finally noticed something.

"These writings in the borders, they are only on certain pages."

That sent them back to the beginning, and as they pulled out some thirty pages of the Codex, Ezio could already see that they were on the right track. Mario sent letters to summon the other assassins, and Ezio and Claudia worked to organize the specific pages, trying to figure out why they were more important than the others. The context of the pages themselves were inconsistent - from both Altair's younger and older years, many conversations on philosophy, rhetoric; lessons on how to be an assassin, ponderings over the Apple. As the assassins arrived one by one for the conclave, Ezio had spread the pages out on the floor, trying to make sense of them.

The Apple, stored in the library for the present, started to tickle in his mind.

_Ask the Eagle. Ask the Eagle; the time is approaching!_

Ezio glared at the stupid silver ball, kicking the stand it was on with his boot to show his contempt before looking over the pages again. It was as the last of the assassins, Antonio, Teodora, and Bartolomeo, arrived all the way from Venice, that he thought to ask his eagle, and realized immediately that the Apple had been trying to help him, because as soon as his special sight activated he saw the faded scrawl, the lines that drew from one page to the next, and realized their significance.

"I see it!" he said, suddenly rushed with activity.

"What?" Paola asked. "What do you see?"

But Ezio paid no mind, instead rearranging the pages, trying to align the faded lines he saw, seeing that, like a puzzle, they could be connected. Mario, too began to see when a few pages were deemed correct, and he helped.

Everyone knew when they were done; because the Apple suddenly burst into light, giggles filling everyone's minds and an odd sense of pride, and the design that only Ezio could see was emblazoned for everyone to see.

"It... It is a map of the entire world..." Ezio said, marveling. His eyes immediately sought out Italy, so small in comparison to the rest of the world, he saw the Holy Land, where Altair had lived hundreds of years ago, he traced the Mediterranean Sea with a finger, but looked west and saw other things, and he looked east and saw more. "But... there are lands shown here that do not exist..." Was this what Altair had talked of in his Codex, about other landmasses? Was this what that idiot Corombo had discovered? Or rediscovered?

Machiavelli leaned in, tracing one of the new landmasses. "Apparently they do exist."

"How is this possible?"

Machiavelli shrugged. "Perhaps the Vault will hold the answer."

"Do you see where it is then?" Paola asked, studying the map from afar. At sixty-one her eyes had begun to wither with age.

For a long time, no one spoke, studying the map, trying to learn where the Vault was. Ezio's eyes darted everywhere, asking his Eagle for help. Many places had an assassin symbol marked off, on the new landmasses and throughout Europe and Asia, and even the large continent of Africa - so much larger than anyone thought. He saw several special locations light up in his sight, but only one of them was the gold of intuition. He blinked, staring, really, when he realized where it was located.

"No," he muttered utterly shocked. "It can't be! The Vault... It looks like the Vault is in Roma." Everyone took in a collective breath, realizing several things as they fell into place. "Then the Spaniard... This is why he became Pope!"

"Now I understand!" Mario said, half-blind gaze wide. "It's not the Vault alone he's gained access to - but the Staff as well!"

Teodora turned to the grandmaster. "What staff?"

"The Codex always spoke of two keys," Mario explained, "Two Pieces of Eden needed to open the Vault. One is the Apple..."

"And the other is the Staff," Ezio said, remembering the writings that lead him to confront Borgia in Venice. "The Papal Staff must be the second Piece of Eden."

"For years..." Mario said, suddenly leaning against the desk. "No, decades... We have sought these answers. Oh, Giovanni..."

"And now, at last, we have them," Paola said, quick to reassure.

Antonio, quiet up to now, fingered his chin. "But so too could the Spaniard. And if he does... if he finds a way into the Vault... Its contents will make the Apple seem a trifling thing."

Ezio agreed. "I must go to Roma and find the Vault. What of the rest of you?"

"We'll do what we do best," Bartolomeo said brightly. "I've recently purchased some barracks in Roma, I'm certain I can cause some trouble in the city, giving you the freedom to conduct your search."

"I will secure safe lodgings," Volpe said, nodding his head, "and cover your escape as needed."

"I am afraid we will not be of much use," Paola said softly, "Our contact in Roma has not communicated with us in quite some time. I regret that the courtesans there will be of little use to you without her introduction."

"I doubt it will come to that," Mario said. "This is not an extended visit, we'll sneak in, stop the Spaniard, and sneak out. Just let me know when you are ready, _nipote_."

"I am ready now," Ezio said.

"Then, Roma beckons, Ezio. Let's get going."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Poor Ezio, to see Cristina after so long and have this happen. He really gets a lot of emotional upheaval in his life - it's a miracle he comes out as well-adjusted as he does. Given that Ezio said in Revelations that when Cristina died "something withered in me," we had to make it as epic and devastating as possible, and in the end we feel a little bad with what we've done to him; I mean, there's still Brotherhood to go through...! We feel that (with the notable exception of Caterina aside) with the death of Cristina came the death of his love life, that he just couldn't see the joy in it with the joy of his life dead, on top of the self-imposed rules of not sleeping with married women. It's also the hardest death for him to get over, he mimic's Maria's catatonic mourning (sorry, but not just women got that heartsick), and though he's matured enough to not desire revenge - in point of fact shows mercy to the man ultimately responsible for her death - because of that he has nothing left to fall back on to get him through it, and so he breaks. It's a testament to his inner strength as a character that he manages to snap out of it, and then pull himself together enough to deal with Savonarola as he does.

And, for the first time, we see a hint of Mentor Ezio in his address to the crowd. We expanded the dialogue quite a bit to make it, well, make more sense. Ezio randomly saying "We don't need anybody to tell us what to do" doesn't make much sense without more preamble. (whistles innocently) It's not set up fro Brotherhood, no, not at ALL...

Next chapter: Death of a Pope. And Desmond escapes again. And a long hiatus as we figure out how the heck to write Brotherhood. See you next week!


	26. Death of a Pope

**Part Twenty-Six: Death of a Pope**

Rome was a beautiful city, Ezio's visits - short though they often were - always left him slightly breathless as he saw the great monuments of a civilization that was old when even the great Altair had been alive. He longed to climb Il Colosseo, or some of the other monuments, but as Mario said, this was to be a quick mission. Mario and Ezio would lead a pronged attack: Bartolomeo drawing troops to the countryside, Volpe securing escape as he did best, and Mario and Ezio would assault the Vatican on two fronts.

Ezio stood on a dock, Ponte Sant'Angelo to his east, and stared up the brick façade. He could trace the lines slowly in the dawn light, and with a deep breath began his climb. It took two hours to work his way up to the top of the tower, his arms were shaky and sore from the work, and as he crested his head out over the rampart, he saw two guards standing watch. He assassinated each of them, yanking their bodies over the ledge, and pulled himself up on to solid ground. Ah, at last.

Shaking his shoulders and his arms to loosen them up, he made his way along the south wall, knowing Mario was tracing his way along the north. The guards along the ramparts were plentiful but Ezio kept himself well hidden, his black doublet keeping him invisible in the deep shadows. He climbed the occasional crate up to overhanging beams, and he was pleased that guards _never_ looked up. Those that did see him where quickly tossed over the ramparts and into the river.

At one rampart he looked out over the inner city of the Vatican, the cardinals and bishops wandering the streets. They were so _ignorant_ of what was happening around them. Borgia, Pope Alexander, was aiming to take the holy relic of the papal staff - a Piece of Eden in its own right, powers unknown, and open the Vault for all its treasure.

... Ezio wondered what was in the Vault. What was in there that was worth so much bloodshed?

What was worth killing Giovanni, and Federico, and Petruccio? And Cristina, indirectly?

Ezio closed his eyes, not yet ready to think about her without pain. He tried instead to think of his father, but it hurt; even after over two decades, the first thing he pictured when he thought of his father was the gallows - that horrible, twisted visage of rage that contorted even his death. The anger unable to be wiped away for the burial in the rain. He could remember Federico, his face also distorted from death; his lazy, easy-going brother had been solemn, stoic, grave, and even as he slowly choked that uncharacteristic look stayed glued to his face. Petruccio was the only one that had not been distorted, except that Ezio could still remember the broken neck, his head lolling to an awkward angle when he picked up the body.

It was why he could never finish that precious painting of his family that he so wanted to do. Their deaths had overwritten their lives.

Even now.

He sucked in a sudden breath, realizing the date. It was today, this day, _this day_ that marked the anniversary of their deaths. Twenty-four years ago to the day.

To the _day_.

Emotion overcame him, and his face darkened as he continued his way along the south wall. That bastard. That _bastard_!

Ezio tried to remember why he was here: to stop Borgia from opening the Vault, to prevent him from accessing whatever treasure he believed was there. But his family was forefront in his mind, and he realized that even after all this time it was still personal. He shook his head, trying to do this deed for the right reasons. He was forty years old, now; surely, _surely_, he was beyond this. He _must_ be. It had to be for the Piece of Eden, for the treasure, for the Vault. Revenge shouldn't hold such sway over him.

It shouldn't.

It _shouldn't_.

He reached the Basilica di San Pietro by late morning. Ducking his head, pulling his hood further down, he adjusted his half cape to cover most of his armor, his dark clothing making him merge into the crowd of monks and be virtually invisible. The silent trek over the walls to get there left him tired - less so of body, he had conserved his strength as best he could - but in mind, because of the acute focus necessary for his eagle to keep him apprised of guards and staying out of their lines of sight. It was also very draining to relive the deaths. He fought not to think about his family as he surveyed the hallway. The inner _cappella_ would be where Borgia was, saying mass. He had to cross the hall, and so he moved from group to group, deaf to their conversations, eying the guards with his every sense, even his eagle, and slowly made his way deeper into the church.

Ezio came out in Cappella Sistina, the magnificent architecture reminiscent of Solomon's Temple in the Holy Land. He stood on an upper level, construction instruments and crossbeams set up to paint the unfinished ceiling.

Borgia's Latin echoed magnificently, and the sound of that voice set a deep, cold, fire in Ezio's chest. He remembered his last encounter with the Spaniard, the man's insane claim that _he_ was the prophet. Ezio no more believed that than he believed that Ezio himself was the prophet. Madness had created all this tragedy, all of _Ezio's_ tragedy, and he was determined to end it.

No, he was determined to avenge his family.

He shook his head, creeping out over the beams and platforms. Giovanni's last gambit, trying to save himself and failing, filled his inner eye, and he remembered his father's last words.

"_You may take our lives this day, but we _will_ have yours in return! I swear!_"

Ezio leapt, high in the air, and for a brief moment he was floating in the air, floating in his memory, floating in his pain, before gravity took over and he plummeted down, hearing the cries of cardinals and bishops as he extended his hidden blade and locked all his senses on the round face of Borgia, seeing the pope looking up and then he was on him; crashing into the frail body of the sixty-eight year old Templar and using it to break his fall.

"I thought," Ezio said, taking a shaky breath. "I thought I was beyond this." Beyond the deaths of his family, beyond the desire for revenge, beyond the pain that had so consumed him in his youth. But he was forty years old now, over half of his life had been spent hunting down this man, half his life trying to understand why they had all died, trying to come to terms with everything that had happened. Beyond this? No.

"But I'm not," he admitted, trying to be honest with himself, honest with Borgia. "I've waited too long... lost too much." Giovanni, Federico, Petruccio, Maria for years, _Cristina_...

"_Requiescat in pace_, you bastard!"

He lifted his hidden blade. He could at least give a clean death.

He could do that much.

"I don't think so!"

A gloved hand gripped at a staff, and there was a _pulse_ such that Ezio had never felt before, his waist pouch burned in retaliation, but he found himself thrown back, shocked.

Would he be denied again?

Like _hell_...!

Ezio gathered himself up and rushed the old man, but the Spaniard raised his staff, and gold light flooded Ezio's vision - the _Staff!_ - and Ezio was flying through the air, not quite understanding why. He crashed into a collection of cardinals. And as he got up, he saw the light enfolding Borgia, and with a grand gesture he slammed the staff into the ground.

Everyone around Ezio cried out in agony, their screams filling his ears as he got to his feet, confused at their reactions. Was the Staff like the Apple, then? He pursed his lips, feeling the burning sensation in his pocket again.

Alexander was looking down at him from the dais, confused. "How is it you resist?" he demanded.

Ezio said nothing, not wanting to give anything away, but the Spaniard's eyes flicked down to his belt, gaze locking on to the pouch at his waist. The Apple was glowing.

"Oh!" Borgia said, understanding dawning. Then he smiled, cruelly. "Kind of you to bring me the Apple. Now give it here!"

Ezio's reply was vulgar: "_Vai a farti fottere_."

Borgia laughed.

"Always the fighter," he said grandly. "Just like your father." Ezio tensed, gallows once more filling his mind. "Well rejoice, my child, for you will see him again soon. You will give it to me!"

_It is approaching let the Piece of Eden help meet power with power cast him out break his flank pierce his defense show him nothing is true and everything is permitted._

Ezio blinked, surprised to hear such language from the Apple, and the root of his Creed made him brave enough to try. He looked up to Borgia, grabbing the Piece of Eden from its pouch. "As you wish," he said, his rich baritone low and dangerous. He could feel more whispers, images, senses of... of things he didn't understand in the slightest, but he watched as _another Ezio _stepped out of him, and _another and another_.

Ho_ly shit it's just like with Al Mu_alim!

"An impressive power," Alexander said, "but if you think it's going to save you, you've another thing coming!"

The fight should have been laughable. Ezio - forty years old and in his prime, physically rested if not mentally after his climb up the city wall and ready for a fight - with four other independent fighters that all had his skills, versus a sixty-eight year old man. The odds were ridiculous, save for the fact that Borgia had a Piece of Eden.

And, Ezio learned very quickly, the old man knew how to use it.

Light poured out of the staff, and the Apple in Ezio's hands burned over and over to counteract whatever he was doing. His doubles, however, did not fair so well, and two of them disappeared in puffs of light. Ezio did not want to learn just how unprepared he was for this fight - he feared what Borgia could do with that damn thing, and so he and his three remaining doubles moved in. Borgia swung the Staff like a bludgeon, there was skill in his swing and in his moves, but age should make him infirm, right? Except there was a vigor in his steps Ezio had not anticipated, and a strength in the blow that knocked him aside that startled him.

He let his three clones press at Borgia, wanting them to assess the Pope's skill and the three did exactly that, as if they were responding to his thoughts. Ezio marveled at it, and could hear pride emanating from the Apple. He could see now why Altair called it temptation given form - if he could make copies of himself to do the work for him, what else could he do? Several thoughts spurted into his head, like suggestions, and Ezio shook his head slightly. Was that the Apple's influence? Why on _earth_ did Altair want to study such a frightening thing? He resolved to bury it when this was done.

Borgia impaled one of the copies, disappearing in a puff of light, and Ezio moved in to take its place. He knew the man's schooling now, and had seen the blind spots that would be to his advantage. Two clones moved in on Borgia's flanks, and Ezio snuck in from behind, delivering a knee to the back and then a blow to the head with the back of his sword, the sword of Altair.

Borgia didn't even flinch.

What?

Another duplicate disappeared, and Borgia pressed an attack, using the Staff like a lance and forcing Ezio back. Assaulting two Ezio's, the Spaniard growled, and Ezio could see sweat on the Pope's face, he looked drawn and tired, and Ezio quickly took advantage of that to kick the old man back. The old man pulled himself up to his knees, and Ezio realized the Pope looked older than his sixty-eight years; he was gasping, panting.

So, then, the stamina, the vigor of youth, the lack of reaction to the blow to the head...?

Ezio realized he was panting to, though he had barely participated in the fight. His last double disappeared in a puff of light for no reason, and Ezio was consumed with the need to go to sleep - which he fought to put to the back of his mind. The Apple at his waist was burning again, and that he could _not_ put aside. So, then, even Pieces of Eden needed something from the user. Was that why men went mad? Their minds were stolen from them? Or was it just their strength?

No, that was a question for later.

Borgia was spent, that was what was important.

"No," the Pope was gasped, "You will not take this from me."

Ezio shook his head, lifting his sword. His legs felt heavy from whatever the Apple had pulled from him, but he kept his sword level. "It's finished, Rodrigo! Lay down your arms, and I'll make sure the end comes swiftly." He would honor his losses with a quick death.

And Borgia smiled. "Oh really, Ezio?" he asked. "And would you give up so easily were it the other way around?!"

And he flung the Staff into the ground again, Ezio an _idiot_ for thinking the battle done while the Staff was in enemy hands!

Ezio was flung back again, spread eagle and sliding along the marbled floor before a prone clergymen stopped his journey. They were still groaning against whatever spell the Spaniard placed under them, and Ezio quickly struggled to detangle himself, his limbs stiff and unwieldy because of their sudden exhaustion. Borgia glowed brightly before _utterly disappearing_. And Ezio was fumbling for the Apple to ask it to cast the glamour, spell, magic, whatever it was aside.

He had just wrapped his fist around it when a there was a swift clamping sensation, and Ezio's head whipped around to see a foot stomping on his wrist.

What...?

_What..._?

Je_sus Christ it really is _just like Al Mu_alim; Ezio use your damn eagle!_

"At last..." Borgia said, twisting his boot and forcing Ezio to release the Apple; he grunted in the pain.

The Spaniard picked up the Apple, he had two Pieces of Eden now, and energy seemed to seep into the old man's frame again, the sixty-eight year old reaching up and somehow attaching the Apple to the Staff.

"And now, to deal with you," he said smugly, looking down at the exhausted Ezio.

He... He had failed.

He had _failed_.

His revenge... it was null and void, his hatred and anger and desperation had not led him to victory. It was the same as that night in San Gimignano, when his anger and his impatience had nearly killed him, _had_ killed Jacopo de' Pazzi because of his arrogance.

Fighting for personal gain... it always led to failure. Ezio had not understood before, and only now that it was too late did he.

Borgia pounded the Staff again, and Ezio could feel his stiff limbs lift without any input from him, his field of vision shifting, rising, and soon he was suspended in the air, his boots hanging limply underneath him and his arms separated from his body. He was _floating in the air._ He could barely breathe; it was like his body was in a cage. Borgia looked at him with supreme satisfaction, and Ezio knew he was about to die.

_Uncle Mario... Father... I'm sorry_.

The knife pierced him, and he grunted in the pain, Borgia smiling as he admired his handiwork, drinking in his success before yanking the blade out and stepping back, imprinting the image in his mind. He turned away, Ezio thought the Spaniard seemed to sink into the floor, but his vision was hazy, filled with black spots, and then the cage disappeared, and he fell bonelessly to the floor.

A fool...

He was nothing but a fool...

Altair had said it himself:

_ "... I hunted each man – one by one – until all responsible were gone from the world. But there was no joy in this. No satisfaction or release. Their deaths did not bring her back. Did not heal my wounds..._

_"... We of noble intentions, possessed of barbaric means? We who celebrate the sanctity of life and then promptly take it from those we deem our enemies..._

_ "... Our duty is to the people, not to custom..._

_ "... What can be done to stop this? To encourage tolerance and equality..._

_ "... If there is one thing I know for certain, it is that men do not learn by being told. Instead they must be shown. They must make the connections themselves..._

_ "... We must guide them. Help them to heal. Their minds must not be filled with more fairy tales, but with knowledge instead..._

_ "... But if we truly fight for what is just, does love not make such sacrifice simpler – knowing that we do so for their gain..."_

An Assassin fought for the people.

... For the _people._

He had been fighting for the wrong reasons. Fighting for revenge, fighting for his family, fighting for the tragedy that happened. Attaching significance to one singular event and making it a life's work, it was tomfoolery. He couldn't fight for something as negative as vengeance. It would do his father no honor - no, it would do the _Assassins_ no honor. When had Uncle Mario shown pride? When Ezio had thought outside himself - when he pursued Vieri de' Pazzi, when he swore to take up his father's work, when he went off to save Lorenzo de' Medici. Antonio had expressed pleasure when he tried to save _Doge_ Mocenigo from Carlo Grimaldi - not to avenge his family of another conspirator, but to save _Venice_.

Ezio had become an _Assassin_ when he had put his need for revenge aside and prevented Borgia from getting the Apple in Venice.

It was when he looked outside himself that he made his greatest achievements.

He lost this battle because he couldn't look outside himself. He couldn't look outside that day at the gallows.

And now he was going to die for it.

Except... except...

... Why wasn't he dead yet?

His rich baritone gave a pained grunt, and he rolled to his side, one hand moving slowly to his stab wound. Ezio could see the bloodstain on the floor, he had definitely been stabbed, but he was surprised to see so _little_ blood. His fingers prodded at the throbbing pain in his abdomen - somehow less than when he had nearly died in Forli - and pressed them inside, exploring. Not as deep... But Borgia's blade had been much bigger... how...?

Ezio took a deep, steadying breath, and pulled himself to his knees. Yes, he had full control of his limbs, his faculties, and... some of his strength was returning. The Apple's induced exhaustion quickly fading. Why?

He blinked slowly, as his fingers caught in the many leather straps of the armor, and he looked down, comprehension slowly dawning.

Tracing the path again, he realized what had happened: the knife had of course been deliberately aimed below the metal chest plates - Altair's miraculous metal concoction had done nothing to prevent the wound, but the leather cording, what had at first been so confusing to put on, had knotted and _deflected_ the blade, making the piercing off center and significantly more shallow than it should have been.

The armor of Altair had saved his life.

Ezio's eyes watered.

"Thank you, Altair," he whispered, "For protecting me as well as teaching me."

He staggered to his feet, swaying slightly before he found his balance, and took a deep breath. Ahhhh, that hurt, but it was tolerable.

Ezio stepped over his bloodstains and walked gingerly up to the dais, he had the hazy vision of Borgia sinking into it, and looked around, examining the intricate tiling. His eyes roved about, uncertain what had been done, but his eagle helped him; his intuition bringing him to a recess in the wall behind the dais. Could this be... like the assassin tombs...?

He pressed his bloody hand around the recess, exploring, before he heard a distinct click, and smiled. There was a similar recess on the other side, and once both were pressed, Ezio watched as the dais lowered into the ground, revealing stairs.

He stood over them, mentally preparing himself. He knew how to fight, now, and what he was fighting for.

It wasn't for his father, or his brothers, or his revenge, or even for something as abstract as the Pieces of Eden.

He fought for Claudia, and Maria, and Mario, and all the people he had met over his twenty-three year journey; all the people who had helped him in some way, from offering advice to teaching him to warming his bed to giving him lodging. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands of people, had brought him to this point, and he thanked every one of them, and prayed to his father that he would not let _them_ down as he descended the steps to defend their freedom.

* * *

Below was nothing like he had ever seen.

A narrow hall lay at the base of the stairs but Ezio crouched down, mindful of his side, and examined strips of pure light on either side. Light not born of fire or the sun, but just a gentle glow at the edges of the floor. Bizarre. Truly bizarre, how could such light be made and not be of fi_re what sort of power source does that use? It must be hundreds of years old, if not thous_ands, and it was strangely cool to the touch. The walls themselves were covered in carvings, ancient lettering and images that made no sense and didn't even seem to have faded with the ages since this... Vault... had been formed.

What was this place? What was this Vault? It wasn't Roman, that much was clear, but Ezio hadn't seen any ruins anywhere in the country that bore such symbols, bore such glowing light. What _was_ this place?

No matter. Borgia was ahead.

The hall opened to a massive, round chamber that bore more of the strange white lights above what appeared to be doorways that might lead to other areas, save for the solid black stone that Ezio couldn't recognize blocking the way. Despite the fact that it was winter, it was oddly warm. Normally at this time of year only multiple layers of fabric and a warm fire could keep anyone warm. Indeed, fires were only good for smaller rooms with heavy drapes and tapestries to keep the heat inside. In a large _capella_ like the Sistine above it was always cold. Yet down here heat was coming from somewhere. In the center was a circular hole, decorated with a tile boarder and from within the hole Ezio could hear the Spaniard cursing.

Silently stepping forward, he looked down and saw the Pope, standing at the wall of the pit, banging at it with his fists. The floor of the pit was almost twenty feet down and more of the strange white light was glowing in columns along the walls at even intervals and the floor itself was a beautiful geometric pattern radiating out. And in the exact center, standing tall and erect, was the papal staff adorned with the Apple.

_Welcome Prophet!_

Ezio watched a moment, studying as Rodrigo continued to batter his hands at the wall uselessly. His side ached with the stab wound, but he was feeling far better than he had moments ago during the emotional storm he had put himself through.

Well, it was time then.

Ezio leapt down to the intricate geometric patterns, landing lightly on near-silent feet.

"_Open_, damn you! Open!" Rodrigo continued to pound at the wall.

"It's over, Rodrigo."

The Pope turned, an ugly scowl marring his aged, sweaty face.

Ezio merely looked at the Pope, all of his fury and rage and sorrow from before having already been drained out of him. Instead, he just looked on, emotionless. "What do you even want with the Vault, Rodrigo?"

"Don't you know what lies within?" the Pope scoffed. "Or do you mean to tell me that the great and powerful Assassins didn't figure it out?"

Ezio raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "Figure what out?"

"God," the Spaniard said coldly. "It is _God_ that dwells within!"

Ezio couldn't quite stop his chuckling response. "You expect me to believe that God lives beneath Il Vaticano?"

"A more logical location than a kingdom on a cloud, don't you think?" Rodrigo replied condescendingly, like an adult to a child. "Surrounded by singing angels and cherubim. Makes for a lovely image, but the _truth_ is far more interesting."

Insane. This man was insane. If God truly even existed, Ezio doubted He'd be beneath the Vatican where any might access him. And if He was, why not come out once in a while to address the foolishness of man? No, God couldn't be in the Vault.

But it didn't matter what Ezio believed. The point was that Rodrigo believed it. It was the reason behind his scheming, his quest for power; he believed that God existed behind this last door, but what was he after if he wanted the Divine?

Ezio shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Let's say I was to believe you... what do you think He'll do when you open that door?"

"I don't care," Rodrigo growled. "It's not approval I'm after. Just power."

"And you think He'll give it up?"

Rodrigo smiled. "Whatever lies beyond that wall won't be able to resist the Staff and the Apple. They were made for felling gods."

Ezio thought back to the men who had fallen under just the Apple's spells. Savonarola, his lieutenants, the crowds of Florence when they mobbed the Palazzo Pitti, including Mario, Paola, Volpe, and Machiavelli, people in the Third Crusade from what he'd seen of Altair's writings.

No. These Pieces of Eden, Ezio didn't think they were made for felling gods. They were made for controlling man.

"God is meant to be all knowing. All powerful," Ezio scoffed. "You think a couple of ancient relics can harm Him?"

"You know nothing, _boy_," Rodrigo shouted. "You take your image of the creators from an ancient book. A book, mind you, written by men."

Ezio's jaw dropped. "You are the Pope! And yet you dismiss the central text of your faith!"

Rodrigo's head tilted back in a guffawing laugh. "Are you so naïve? I became Pope to give me _access_. It gave me _power_. Do you think I believe a single goddamned word in that ridiculous book? It's all lies and superstition. Just like every other religious tract written over the past ten thousand years."

Ezio didn't consider himself religious any more. He didn't even know if he really believed in religion in the broadest of terms. Man had more control that God did, that was obvious. Even Altair's writings were philosophical studies of where religions rose from and what they meant and what was truly morally correct and the contradictions therein. But Ezio had grown up in a Christian city in a Christian country in a world where the Pope was meant to be a beacon of wisdom for those who were troubled.

Even if Ezio didn't believe, others _did_, and to see the man who was the Pope be such a hypocrite, to make such a mockery of the position... God may not exist, but others believed in it and to have their beliefs trampled on by this ridiculous, greedy, power-hungry, madman was unacceptable.

In one swift move, Ezio dashed forward and landed a powerful punch on Rodrigo's jaw. The old man fell like a sack of stones.

"You can't," Rodrigo gasped. "You _can't_! It's _my_ destiny! _Mine_! _I_ am the Prophet!"

Ezio shook his head. "You never were."

"Get it over with, then," Rodrigo sighed.

"No," Ezio replied, standing up. "Killing you won't bring my family back. I'm done. I'm _done_._ Nulla è reale; tutto è lecito. Requiescat in pace_."

No, he wouldn't kill for revenge. There was no point. Rodrigo was beaten, and there was no doubt about it. Just because he was an Assassin, didn't mean he had to kill every target. Nothing was true; everything was permitted. Rodrigo would know for the rest of his life that the Assassins had won. That Ezio had beaten him. And nothing Rodrigo could do would erase that memory. He would have to live with that ultimate defeat. It was best to leave Rodrigo to be at peace.

Turning his back to the old man, Ezio stepped to the Staff.

_The Prophet is ready! Ready to meet her! The Prophet is ready!_

Ezio pushed aside the whispers, reaching for the Staff adorned with the Apple, intent on taking them away. Yet as he approached, the Pieces of Eden started to glow, beams of light sparking out in a joyful dance as the Prophet reached forward, not sure what else to do.

Grasping the Staff, the lights coalesced to the tip of the Staff, above the Apple, and flared outward, making a heptagon with interconnected corners that vaguely resembled a pentagram. The wall bearing the mark started to glow brightly, then sank through the floor. Indeed, the rest of the walls around the pit glowed in bizarre patterns and designs, each ripple of light gliding across the floor towards the staff.

Confused by the bizarre images and symbols and lights, Ezio reached up and plucked the Apple off the Staff, not wishing for it to leave his side for some reason. He put it in the pouch he'd been holding it in and observed the strange occurrence before him: the symbols that pulsed light were identical to the corridor Ezio had walked down to come here, and reaching out, the glow produced no warmth. The same for the strange light lining the floor into the passage the sunken wall had revealed. It was truly stra_nge something doesn't feel rig_ht and Ezio stepped forward.

Despite all of Ezio's protestations to the contrary over the years... he was the Prophet. Whatever was in this Vault was for him alo_ne what's going o_n.

Thus, Ezio stepped forward, ignoring Rodrigo behind him, ignore the Pieces of Eden, and steppin_g into the Vault_.

_The corridor was short, lead_ing to a darkened room with large triangular pillars, almost obelisks, standing tall wi_th strange bluish white lights glowing in st_range geometric patte_rns that he could reach out and touch. But a step behind him mad_e him turn and Ezio step_ped forward but... Desmond did not._

_ Desmond was no longer looking through Ezio's eyes. He was no longer walking with Ezio's feet. He was... just there._

Ezio noted that the odd patterns were up on the ceiling as well, casting the room in a strange blue glow. Yet the back wall was empty of such symbols. So very strange.

_This was strange. He could still feel Ezio, look through his eyes but not. He was aware of Ezio's consciousness, of what his ancestor had thought and felt as he entered this room of wonder, but he wasn't _with_ Ezio as he always was. Desmond could only step forward as well, uncertain what this meant._

_ "Guys?"_

_ No response._

_ "GUYS!"_

_ Still nothing._

_ They weren't recording it like he was seeing it._

_ Oh fuck._

Ezio stepped to the back wall, looking around in awe of such strange sights. Was there any way to duplicate this? To have a room glow and see better than by candlelight? Leonardo would love to have seen this.

Suddenly, light seemed to emanate from _midair_, another impossibility, blinding him as it gathered into form.

_Holy shit! It's a hologram! But Desmond hadn't heard of any functioning holograms yet. Technology, advanced as it was, hadn't yet made a three-dimensional image just hover in space yet. Only in the confines of a computer._

"Greetings, Prophet," the light form said as it finally resolved its shape into that of a woman, wearing an odd helmet-like headdress and wearing flowing white robes that reminded Ezio of ancient Rome and Greece. "It is good you have come. Let us see it. To give thanks."

_It? The Apple? Who the hell is this woman? And did she just glance at me? Desmond felt an involuntary shudder and made to back away, but was held, motionless, just behind Ezio and to his left, staring at this woman and wondering what was going on._

Ezio pulled out the Apple and stepped forward. While this strange woman of light reached forward. The Apple giggled in Ezio's mind, happy to do as was bade of it. The woman reached out a hand, flickering briefly, and held it above the Apple. The Piece of Eden glowed in response, shining brightly as a new command was laid in it.

_The woman's face remained emotionless, and once the glow faded, she turned and locked her eyes on Desmond. This was so strange._

"We must speak," she said _to Desmond_.

Ezio, his voice soft in awe, quietly asked, "Who are you?"

The woman turned back to Ezio. "Many names," she replied. "When I died, it was Minerva. Before that, Merva, and Mera. And on, and on. The others, too: Juno, who was before called Uni; Jupiter, who was before called Tinia."

"You are..."

_Those Who Came Before! Shit, Those Who Came Before!_

Ezio could barely breath... "gods..." Like the Greek and Roman gods that painters used for their pieces. They were the gods of the classics. Borgia had been _right? _They _existed_? Ezio, who didn't believe much in religion, was trying to rearrange his thoughts to accommodate this strange revelation.

But the woman, Minerva, only laughed with a faint smile.

"No. Not gods. We simply came... before," she said.

_And Vidic did say that things, Pieces of Eden simply came... "before". Dear god, how much do the Templars know of this conversation?_

Around Minerva, around Ezio, the pillars, the glowing symbols, the room, faded to darkness. Strange orbs filled the darkness and only one did Ezio recognize, a small blue and green jewel of the world, so like the map the Codex had hidden.

_She's showing the solar system. Why is she showing the solar system?_

"Even when we walked the world," she said, "your kind struggled to understand our existence. We were more... advanced in time. Your minds were not ready."

_Desmond thought he understood. If they were advanced, as this room and their Pieces of Eden, indicated, then yes, the average person in ancient civilizations wouldn't understand. The same way computers and cars would be viewed as magic if sent back in time._

_ Minerva turned to him, studied him._

"Still not," she said, "maybe never. No matter. You may not comprehend us. But you will comprehend our warning. You must."

_Desmond could only nod. He did understand them, in a way. Mankind still couldn't do half the shit that this room was doing, but mankind understood enough to know, or at least he understood enough to know, that this was just technology not yet invented._

_ Or discovered, if what Vidic had said was true, that all man's major advancements were merely "discoveries" of things done by Those Who Came Before._

But Ezio didn't understand. These globes around the Earth, this warning, the fact that she was something mankind didn't understand, couldn't understand, of course Ezio was getting confused. This was so incredible and awe-inspiring and unclear...

"None of what you are saying makes sense," he said politely. He was here for a reason. This was all to bring him here, this nonsense about him being a Prophet. So why is it that he was finally here, things _still_ didn't make sense? What was it all for if he couldn't understand it? And why wasn't she even looking at him? She just gazed off to the side, staring at nothing.

Minerva turned to him at last. "Our words are not meant for you," she said firmly, turning back to stare at nothing.

"What are you talking about?" Ezio asked, still so confused. He turned to the empty black space behind him. "There is no one else here!"

_Maybe not for you, Desmond shook his head sadly, but these people are looking to the fact that this is just a memory I'm seeing. Jesus Christ, how far ahead could they predict the future? How did they know that Ezio would come here? That I would be descended from him? That I would be strapped to a damned machine and forced to relive the lives of people I didn't even know existed? How much of the future, my time, did they plan and prepare for? And if they could do that, why didn't they just do something that would route out the Templars? Or anything else that science fiction offers in their "What-if?" category?_

Minerva turned to Ezio again. "_Enough_!" she reprimanded with a touch of frustration in her voice. "I do not wish to speak _to_ you, but _through_ you." Her face was once again impassive. "You are the Prophet," she said kindly. "You've played your part. You anchor him, but please be silent! That we may commune."

Anchor him?

Ezio's eyes widened as things he'd read from Altair's writings, things he'd studied, theories of the humanists, all settled into place. Ezio was an anchor. He was only here to call forth a spirit needed for a different task. Somehow Ezio's own soul brought the one needed, and the one needed would know what was needed.

Ezio still had his own questions. Who was this Minerva? How was he chosen as a Prophet? If they knew he was coming, did they know the path his life lead? Was he meant to find this spirit? What else was he to do? So many questions. But for now, he merely stayed silent.

Minerva had a message. He would ask after it was delivered.

She turned to empty space once more, which Ezio could only guess that the spirit was hovering.

_She locked eyes on Desmond again. "Listen," she bade before her hologram faded and only her voice remained. The solar system disappeared and a bright light flashed along the back wall and ancient images appeared. An Egyptian god holding a sphere... an Apple... to be used against the men lining up with weapons raised._

"When we were still flesh, our homes still whole, your kind betrayed us. We, who made you. We, who gave you life. We were strong. But you were many. And both of us craved war."

_The Egyptian image faded and the solar system returned._

"So busy were we with earthly concerns, we failed to notice the heavens. And by the time we did..."

_The sun let out a massive flare lighting all the planets aglow in orange fire._

"The world burned and naught remained but ash. It should have ended then and there. But we built you in our own image. We built you to survive. And so you did."

Ezio swallowed remembering the prophecies of doom that Savonarola and others had preached about the upcoming new year. Such hellfire had actually happened once? And humanity had survived? And now humanity didn't even remember it...

"Few were our numbers. Your kind and mine. It took sacrifice. Strength. Compassion. But we rebuilt. And as life returned to the world..."

_The solar system faded; replaced with another ancient looking image, of people under some sort of Star Wars ray shield and what might be buildings as a man studied the sun._

"We endeavored to ensure this tragedy would not be repeated. But now we are dying. And time will work against us."

_The image faded and another appeared, though harder to make out through the bright light. It looked like a Mayan temple but the circular geometric shape above matched the floor outside in the pit... antechamber._

"Truth turned into myth and legend. What we built, misunderstood. Let my words preserve the message and make a record of our loss. But let my words bring hope."

_Desmond felt a chill go through him._

"You must find the other temples. Built by those who knew to turn away from war. They worked to protect us - to save us from the fire. If you can find them... If their work can be saved... so too might this world."

_The image faded again, revealing modern buildings and an Abstergo-like icon in a corner._

"Be quick, for time grows short. And guard against the Cross, for there are many who will stand in your way."

_The image faded and Minerva's light formed once again, still staring right at Desmond._

"It is done. The message is delivered," she said softly. "We are gone from this world. All of us. We can do no more. The rest is up to you, Desmond."

_Shit, she even knows my _name_?_

"What?" Ezio blinked, spurred to action by such a specific name for a spirit. "Who is Desmond? I don't understand!"

But Minerva was fading.

"Please, wait! I have so many questions!"

But the room was in darkness once more.

_All Desmond could see was darkness. He couldn't even feel Ezio anymore. It was like he had merely closed his eyes and was stuck in that half-aware state. That had been one hell of an information dump._

_ And all Desmond could think was..._

_ What. The. Fuck?_

* * *

"... there's only about ten minutes until they get..."

"... need all of my equipment..."

"... ready to go before they do..."

Desmond blinked blearily up at the ceiling. Minerva had said so much. Another solar flare or _something_ was coming and somehow, he was the only one who could stop it.

That so didn't make any sense.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, a faint headache starting to form at all that information swirling around in his head. Other temples. He had to find other Vaults. But _how_?

"Desmond!" Lucy shouted.

"Yeah," Desmond replied, still slightly disoriented at all that he'd just been told. "... yeah."

Lucy nodded to him, but was all business, much like when they had been escaping Abstergo.

"Alright, Shaun, I need you and Rebecca to get everything in here packed up and loaded into the truck."

Packed up?

Desmond glanced around the room and noticed that all of Shaun's notes, all of his corkboard of interconnected facts was gone. The books were gone. His computer was gone. Hell, half of the Abstergo servers that Rebecca needed for the Animus were gone. They were packing up. Moving. But there was urgency in everyone's motions as Rebecca started unhooking the Animus, flinging the cords onto the seat Desmond had just vacated and Shaun hefted the other half of the servers, on wheels and started pushing down the hall.

"What?"

Lucy turned to Desmond. "You and I will deal with the Templars."

"What?" Desmond asked, hating how groggy his voice sounded, even as his mind woke up to the danger approaching. "They're _here_?"

Shaun jogged back into the room and grabbed Lucy's computer, tossing it onto the Animus's seat and helped Rebecca start pushing it on its wheels. "It was only a matter of time before they discovered us," he explained, grabbing more cables from the floor and dropping them back on the Animus as Rebecca kept guiding the thing. "To be honest, I'm surprised it took them as long as it did."

"Let's go," Lucy said, tossing him something.

Desmond caught it and was shocked to see that it was a hidden blade. Three leather straps were all that held the blade mechanism, which was just as sharp as any of Ezio's numerous blades and knives. Desmond quickly pulled up his hoodie's sleeves and strapped it on over the tattoos of his left arm and nothing could have felt more natural than to have a hidden blade there.

He glanced around at all the equipment, but he didn't know a thing about any of it and Rebecca was barking orders to Shaun about things. They had it well in hand. So Desmond ran back to his bed and grabbed the bag he'd packed if ever there were need of a quick escape, as there was now. He slid it on and raced after Lucy.

"So what's the plan?" he asked as the turned to the stairs. "We ditch this place and then what?"

"There's another safe-house. It's-"

Lucy was cut off, however, as the power flickered out and the emergency lights came on. "We've got company!"

They raced down the stairs, the emergency lights flickering on and off in a red staccato beat.

"The truck's just up ahead," Lucy panted by his side. The emergency lights didn't extend much into the actual warehouse, leaving only the sunlight streaming in from above as a light source.

The docking bay of the warehouse was just ahead and Desmond could see the small truck that already had one of the Animus computer banks backed against the far wall. Unfortunately, an oily, cocky voice stopped Desmond cold.

"Mister Miles! This is an unexpectedly pleasant turn of events!"

Desmond turned slowly, glaring at the man who had first forced Desmond into the Animus, who taunted and toyed with him, who didn't give a damn about human life.

Warren Vidic.

Surrounding Vidic was Abstergo security, blue and white uniforms and caps making them indistinguishable from one another, with belts loaded with tear gas cans and holding extended billy clubs.

Well shit, things were just packed in a neat little hand basket and postmarked for hell.

"And here I thought I'd have to waste more men on you!" Vidic continued with his sneer. "Kind of you to save me the trouble."

"What do you want, Vidic?" Desmond growled.

Vidic offered a smile and waved his arms in his usual grand gestures. "For you to come home," he said insincerely. "We miss you terribly. There's still so much work for us to do together!"

"Right," Desmond said in full sarcasm. "You wanted me dead as I recall."

"It's not happening, Warren," Lucy said coldly.

"You continue to disappoint me in every conceivable way, Ms. Stillman," Vidic replied, his voice just above a growl. "I saved your life once. Do you remember? And _this_ is how you repay me?"

"You saved me so you could keep experimenting on people," Lucy shouted back, "destroying their lives - and for what?"

"Oh, _this_ tired argument again," Vidic sighed like he'd heard all this before. "As I recall, you were there, at my side, every step of the way." Vidic stepped forward. "Their blood is on _your_ hands just as much as _mine_."

"You need to stop him," Lucy whispered out of the corner of her mouth, emotion making her voice thick.

"I'm on it," Desmond replied.

In a blur, shocking everyone, Desmond leapt forward knocking down one of Abstergo's security guards, pushing him to his back as Desmond straddled him, his hidden blade plunging into the man's jugular. Before anyone even had a moment to gas_p Ezio was spinning u_p and the blade sliced neatly across another guard's throat. Abstergo's security personnel were quick to start reacting, however, and Desmond ducked under the extended billy club and plunged his hidden bla_de under the back of the ribcage, holding the man's throat. Altair always did pref_er such a silent kill.

Another guard tried to grab Desmond from beh_ind, but he merely kicked off the ground, flipp_ing over, forcing the man backwards. Desmond landed lightly on his feet but his attacker was off balance and flat on the ground so Desmond gave a fast strike to the neck bef_ore ducking under another extend_ed billy club and back stepping.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Lucy had disarmed one of the security guards and was using the billy club to great effect.

Desmond smiled at his advantage. The billy club was designed for bruising and bludgeoning. His blade was designed for piercing and slicing. There was no question whom was better armed.

He danced between two guards, coming unsuspected on a third and drove his blade deep into the man's back before spinning. His blade bur_ied itself into another man's side and Ezio could only shake his head at the lack of arm_or these people had. A fresh wave was coming in, but Desmond kept slicing through them, his hidden bla_de an extension of Altair's arm and pie_rcing necks, backs, stomachs, and once, Desmond landed his blade in through the eyeball of a security guard. Blood rained down around him and he flew from one opponent to the next, using the skills of both Ezio and Altair to fell any in his way. Lucy did well as well, but she wasn't as skilled, wasn't as in shape.

At last, Desmond launched himself at the last guard, his hidden bla_de burying itself deep down the man's neck and into a lu_ng as the momentum pushed them to the ground.

Desmond looked up to Vidic, who was in a large semi that had been backed into the warehouse on the other side. Good, they hadn't seen the truck they'd be using for their escape.

Desmond stepped forward with his own grin, sweaty, certainly, but still in control of his breath.

"Uh-oh, Doc," he said mockingly. "Looks like it's just you and me now."

Vidic scowled horribly, his salt-and-pepper beard twisting to something ugly. "Enjoy your victory, Mister Miles," he acknowledged, "temporary as it is," he added under his breath. He pulled down the door and slammed the side of the truck, signaling the driver to get going and they drove away.

A small part of Desmond wish_ed to give ch_ase, to hunt down the _bastardo_ and make sure he never harmed a living soul again.

"Desmond!" Rebecca shouted behind him, her arms loaded with machinery. "We have to go!"

So Desmond let out a long sigh, let go of the anger and hate, and turned. Lucy was looking at him with compassion in her eyes. They had _both_ suffered under Vidic and they _both_ wished for his blood. But now wasn't the time. They needed to get to safety first.

He jogged back with Lucy, grabbing the machinery from Rebecca and hefting it into the back of their truck.

"There you are!" Shaun shouted, jumping down from the truck. "Come on. Help Lucy into the van."

Desmond turned, surprised to see Lucy leaning forward and panting hard.

"Lucy?" he asked, bending down to her.

"Sorry, pulled some muscles," she grunted.

"Come on, up you go," Desmond grabbed her thin waist and hefted her up to the back of their truck (not van, Shaun, truck) and climbed in himself.

"Hurry, Desmond!" Shaun shouted, coming back down the stairs with another box of materials. "We need to go!"

Lucy grabbed Desmond's arm before he hopped down. "You'll have your turn, Desmond," she said, looking straight into his eyes. "Warren's gonna get what he deserves. I promise."

Desmond smiled softly and nodded. "You take the stuff, we'll bring it to you."

She nodded and Desmond hurried back up to the loft to help Rebecca with maneuvering the computer banks down the stairs, since without power, the elevator was out.

It took two more trips, once for the actual Animus, and another for a final check that nothing had been left behind that was important, before they all piled into the truck.

Shaun went to the driver's seat and pulled out and drove slowly as if he didn't have a care in the world. He was just making a delivery of the goods in the truck and wasn't suspicious at all.

"So what now?" Desmond asked as he helped Rebecca organize the hastily thrown in machinery. "Where are we headed?"

"There's a cabin up north," Lucy replied, stretching out her pulled muscles. "We should be safe there, at least for a little while." She sighed. "I have to analyze those tapes from your session, figure out what's happening."

"Yeah," Desmond muttered. "That last part was a real mind-fuck. And then what? I mean, what the hell was that in the Vault? What was Minerva saying?"

Lucy rubbed at her temples like she was fighting a headache. "What you saw proves everything I was afraid of," she replied, pinching the bridge of her nose. "The Templars aren't our biggest threat. Not by a long shot."

"So... what, the sun is?" Desmond ran a hand through his hair. "What's it going to do? Cook the Earth?"

"I doubt it, but... I don't know," Lucy sighed again. "There's been some speculation that the Earth's magnetic field is weakening... A sufficiently strong flare could flip the poles and cause geomagnetic reversal. It's all theoretical. But if it happens... the planet could become geologically unstable." Lucy shook her head. "Very unstable."

Shaun spoke up over the intercom as he took a turn. "It's meant to be the stuff of pseudo-science, but clearly something catastrophic happened to the people of the first civilization. And that woman - Minerva, was it? - she seemed to think we were due for a second round."

Something cold settled on Desmond's spine. "So either way, we're fucked."

Lucy shrugged, then winced and stretched her muscles again. "I don't know yet... We'll keep reviewing the tapes. And you can keep digging through your memories. Maybe there's more to discover."

Rebecca leaned in with a wide smile. "I'll have my Baby set up and functioning in an hour or two. Then we'll be ready to go diving again."

Desmond gave a wan smile. The weight of the world had just been settled quite keenly around his shoulders and it didn't even feel real yet. He was supposed to somehow find temples? Other Vaults and get enough information to save the world? From a _solar flare_? What sort of technology did Those Who Came Before have and why didn't they implement it before? And what about Abstergo and its satellite to control all mankind? Were they connected somehow?

It was like when Desmond first activated his Eagle Vision, and he saw the blood painted around the lab and his room. It was just so much to take in. And they had almost been captured. Vidic had discovered them, how did they know the old fart wasn't tracking them now?

He had so many questions, and no feasible way to get answers.

None but the Animus.

"Alright," Desmond shrugged. "Guess I better get started..."

**The End**

**Author's Notes:** It's done it's done it's dooooooooooone, the hardest game to map out and outline is dooooooone...

And so, if you haven't picked up on it yet, the dream sequence with Sef was a prelude to this: Desmond stepping out of Ezio and synching memories all on his own. That half baked idea I had for the italics? Mirror took and fleshed out into the magnificence you just read with Minerva. Bow and give her praise.

And now Ezio is truly the Mentor. He's put away the deaths of his family (as much as he can) and is now working for the people; he's fully assimilated the Creed as is now at Altair's level of knowledge/wisdom. Forty versus twenty-six, it took Ezio quite a bit longer, of course, but he didn't have the head start Altair did :P The chapter really kind of wrote itself, there wasn't much tweaking to be done, and everything is all nice and set up for when we start writing Brotherhood.

Note that Desmond's Bleeding Effect is starting to creep up. It was helpful now, but, well, we'll see... Everything is up in the air now, because we have to write Brotherhood, and god only knows how that's going to turn out. It won't be the never-ending headache of trying to keep track of twenty years worth of history and political figures and events, but it certainly presents its own challenges in outlining.

When we first set out to novelize AC1, we figured that be the end of it. The reviewer feedback was phenomenal, however, and so we're now committed to novelizing the rest. Once we realized that we knew that this game, hands down, would be the hardest; and for two reasons. One: the time skips. Writing a condensed fic that takes place over the summer (AC1) or even just a year (ACR) is very straight-forward; the beginning, middle, and end are all closely clustered together, and there's a limited amount of character growth that can be managed and controlled. A game spanning twenty years, however, is a different story - especially when there are gaps ranging from two to ten years. Ezio goes from teen growing pains to trying to be an adult to being an adult to being a mentor. It's a coming of age story, sort of, but unlike AC3 the world isn't all that populated and there aren't little things to go in the interim that help inform us of what Ezio is doing. The characters that do populate the world, also, are flat or forgotten about, and it put a lot of work on us to make them interesting let alone memorable.

The second great challenge for AC2 was Desmond. We have exactly three scenes with him: the escape, the dream, and the other escape. According to the chronology he spends roughly a week in that warehouse, but we never see what happens. They take just enough time to establish everybody and then poof, we forget about them. The sheer volume of content generation for Desmond, building him up to the dream sequence, and figuring out how to handle the Bleeding Effect, and THEN characterizing Lucy and the rest... Plus there was the giant challenge known as the GLYPHS. The result was much headbanging. Much. Much. MUCH. Headbanging.

All of this is compounded by the fact that AC2 is our least favorite game of the series. Revenge stories never touched us and, for some reason, once the game got to Venice it just got... boring. (No offense, please!) AC1 is a story of redemption (always an immediate hit for us), ACB is about building a Brotherhood/family, AC3 is about family (in a twisted, political, deliciously complicated way), and even ACR is quiet reflection of life and fate and decisions. Revenge? Meh. That lack of drive certainly didn't help.

To be sure, Brotherhood has its own challenges. We're looking at the main three-year timeline and sort of scratching our heads at how to make it make sense, but we have several benefits. Most of the events take place over a three year period, and so the management is a little easier, we have a thicker cast of characters, some intrigue and all those lovely little recruits to play with. Having gone through the glyphs, we have a better idea of how to do the rifts, and we actually have content for Desmond in the forms of all those emails traded back and forth. Theoretically, the headbanging will be less. Visually, ACB is my favorite (I haven't ranked AC3 yet). It's so... _warm_ in its color palette. Anyway.

Uber thanks go out to our beta Tenshi, without her there would have been many spelling errors.

See you in the summer!


End file.
